


Renegades

by KiwiCutie013



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: ; ), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Captivity, Depression, Detectives, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Freckles is a dog, Grimmons, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Junior is human, M/M, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Mild Smut, Multi, Murder, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual innuendos, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Tucker - Freeform, Tuckington - Freeform, Violence, because, churboose - Freeform, magical abilities, power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiCutie013/pseuds/KiwiCutie013
Summary: And that’s when Tucker realised that Wash had very little idea what really happened. He guessed no one really told him. Tucker cleared his throat, looking towards the house. “My mom was a drug addict,” He started out saying. “She gave me up to the Director. The Director was the one who brought us all together and kept us in that house.”“Why?”“Because we had magic,” Tucker answered. “Or at least the Director assumed we did based on reports from family members and stuff.”“Wait.” Washington shook his head, disbelief coursing through him. “And you guys weren’t allowed to leave?”Tucker nodded. “Up until a few years ago when the bastard shot himself.” He snipped, kicking at a stray rock on the ground.“I-” Wash paused, looking towards Tucker as he looked away. “I’m sorry that happened.” He finally said.“Tucker shrugged. “It's fine,” He muttered. “Let’s just go in.”Washington nodded, glancing down at his restrained wrist. “Can I be uncuffed then?”Tucker looked up at the house and began walking. “Fuck No.”
Relationships: Agent Carolina & Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Agent Carolina/Agent York (Red vs. Blue), Butch Flowers | Agent Florida & Sarge, Dexter Grif & Kaikaina Grif | Sister, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Junior & Lavernius Tucker, Katie Jensen/Charles Palomo, Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington, Lavernius Tucker/Original Character(s), Leonard L. Church & Lavernius Tucker, Leonard L. Church | AI Program Alpha/Agent Texas | AI Program Beta, Leonard L. Church/Lavernius Tucker, Michael J. Caboose & Freckles, Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church
Comments: 45
Kudos: 50





	1. Les débuts

**Author's Note:**

> HI, welcome to the shit storm that is this magic AU <3
> 
> For a little bit of preread explanation; 
> 
> 18 out of 7.5 billion people across the world have been gifted with incredible "inhuman" abilities. 
> 
> The Director gathered as many of these magical people as he could. He got his hands on 8. He tried to extract their power and find out how it worked. When he couldn’t extract it, he did the next best thing.
> 
> He taught them how to use their powers to benefit him. 
> 
> This story takes place in St. Louis Missouri :D
> 
> ALso, I promise this is the longest chapter.

_ -4 years ago- _

“Well, now what?” Simmons asked impatiently. 

It was the one question they all had on their minds. The Director was dead, The Counselor was gone. They were free to go.

Tucker tightened his grip on Junior’s hand. 

“We leave, live out our lives.” Church said obviously.

“And what? Pretend nothing ever happened!”

“Yes! That’s exactly what we do." Church snipped back. "We forget the Director, we forget this fucking house, we forget our whole lives... and we start new ones.” Church mumbled out that last part, maybe it was because he was unsure if that was even possible. 

“Does this mean we can make friends and talk to all the peoples now?” Caboose asked happily, rocking on his feet. 

“Yes, Caboose. It does.”

Donut smiled. “Yay! We’re free.”

Simmons bit his lip “Well, I wouldn't say th-”

Donut ignored him, smiling wide. “Watch out world. Because Franklin Delano Donut is coming!”

Grif groaned. “Don’t shout shit out like that.”

Tucker just listened in as everybody talked. Some were excited about their new freedom. Mainly Kai, Caboose, and Donut. They were probably excited because they didn’t know any better. 

Those who did know better; were afraid. 

Because before now they had been hidden away from the world. It was dangerous for people like them to be out and about. And now, nothing was separating them from the outside world. No house, gate, or crazy old man. They had never been out past the perimeter of the house before, well except for Tucker. But besides that, they had never interacted with other people. 

What were they going to do?

He had  _ no _ idea what he was going to do. 

Maybe live out the rest of his days, normally. With his son. No more experiments, no more training, nothing.

“What do we do now?” Junior asked, looking up at him. 

Tucker shrugged and looked up at the house. The house that he had desperately tried to escape from, the house that haunted him in his dreams, the house that kept him trapped. 

“I don’t know, little man. I have no idea.”

* * *

_ -Present Day- _

_ St. Louis Missouri _

_ Metropolitan police department _

“Have you seen the newspaper?”

Carolina looked up from the desk in her office. “No, why?”

York looked surprised and moved a few items on her desk to make room. He took out the rolled-up newspaper from his bag and unrolled it on her desk. She picked it up and took a look at it. 

_ -6 found dead on Adams avenue.- _

“York what does this have to do wi-”

“Just keep reading, Lina.”

Her eyes scrolled down the page as she read an article under the title.

_ -The gruesome deaths people are calling The Massacre on Adams avenue led to 6 dead bodies. Most forms of death are currently unknown while 2 out of 6 of the bodies were violently burned to death. On a few of the bodies limbs are broken and bent in seemingly impossible ways and traffic cams show no process of the crime being committed. Reporters have interviewed several locals who claim they've never experienced anything like this in their city. For more information on the investigation turn to page 4b.- _

Carolina looked at the paper for a second and then started looking around her desk. She really needed to clean up.

“Why hasn’t this been brought to my attention sooner?” She asked, shuffling through papers.

“I had the officers working on the case file out a report and give it to you.” 

She handed the newspaper back to him and continued looking through her files. How was she supposed to find anything in the disaster she called a desk? She was informed that St. Louis was known for its crime when she transferred over to be their Chief of police, but this was downright ridiculous. 

She sighed and looked up at York. “Can you bring Lopez in here please?” 

York nodded and left the room. 

Carolina sighed, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her desk. She closed her eyes. She had the worst headache today and didn’t want to deal with this. She wanted to go home and sleep. Working here always seemed to suck all the life out of her. 

She opened her eyes and took a look at the sticky note on her computer. 

He told her that if she ever needed help, she could call the number on the sticky note. She loved her brother and he was the only person she would ever ask for help from, but she didn’t want to call him and drag his ass down from San Francisco. She didn’t need help anyway. She was way too stubborn to ask for it.

“ _ You said you needed me?”  _ Lopez asked in Spanish from the other side of the room. 

Carolina sat up. She didn’t speak much Spanish, so she had no idea what he said, but the way he said it didn’t sound like she needed to say anything besides what she wanted him to do. 

Why did Sarge have to hire a Spanish assistant for an  _ English _ Police Department?

“Lopez, can you get me the case files from Monday?” She asked him.

_ “Sure.”  _ And with that, he exited the room. 

Carolina took a look at her desk and began shuffling through the papers trying to organize them. 

“Excuse me, miss?” A girl with a lisp asked as she walked into the room with a few other teenagers. The girl had on braces and kept her brown hair in a neat braid flowing off her shoulder. She walked in with three other males. They all seemed pretty worried except for one who just stood at the door with his arms crossed looking quite bored.

Who let these kids in here?

“Yes?” Carolina asked looking up from her desk.

“You’re the chief of police, right?” The girl asked.

“That is correct, may I help you?”

“Yes well-” The girl with the lisp spoke, nervously playing with the ends of her hair.

“We witnessed a murder!” A dark-toned teenager interrupted.

“Palamo! Don’t interrupt me!” The tanned girl chastised.

Carolina looked around her desk grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. She held the pen at the ready. “What did the murderer look like?” 

“Murderers.” A much more respectable teen corrected. 

Carolina nodded. “How many people would you say?”

“They don’t know.” The bored teen commented sarcastically from the back of the room.

Carolina looked up at the group. “Ok, well how did they commit the crime?”

The group went quiet and the kid named Palamo spoke up. “Well, they used some kind of magic or something.”

Carolina pursed her lips and put the pen down. “Magic?”

The group nodded.

“Listen, kids, I’m very busy, and if you think you can walk into a Police station and claim that-”

“But it's true.” The boy cried.

Carolina sighed. The worst thing about her job was the weirdos coming in, claiming to have seen things. She didn’t want to spend the next 30 minutes talking to the kids about their supposable “murder”. 

But if they did see something she needed to know. 

That left her wondering, who could she send the kids to so that she wouldn't have to deal with them?

“How about this.” She said sharply. “I’m going to have someone help you with your case. His desk is right down the hall. His name is Sarge. Talk to him and I’m sure he can help.” She ended her directions with a smile.

The kids nodded and left the room mumbling their thank-yous.

Once she was sure they were gone she facepalmed into the papers on her desk. Hopefully, Sarge could keep them busy with his Red vs Blue conspiracy theories. 

She was running out of fake missions to send him on anyway.

* * *

‘The Doughnut hole’ Was his pride and joy. He’d always wanted to work someplace dainty and calming. So when the opportunity arose for him to have his own cafe, he took it. He loved the building and decorated it himself, adding white and pink wallpaper and pictures on the wall. 

The place wasn’t very well known. Considering his situation that was probably a good thing. However, it was well known enough to still be in business. Not like he needed the money. He did pretty well for himself. Not needing a car helped as well.

He finished brewing his cup of coffee and got out the caramel sauce. He wanted to get his energy up before he opened the shop. The best thing about it being his own cafe’ was that he could make himself stuff too. He doused the coffee in caramel and topped it off with whip cream and sprinkles. The added flavors made the caffeine much more sufferable. He was taking a sip from the coffee when he heard the entrance bell jingle. 

“Hey, Buttercream.” A cheery Caboose said as he sauntered to the front counter.

“Good morning, Caboose.” 

Sure the place wasn’t open yet, but Caboose was allowed in anytime. Donut took a sip from his coffee and walked over to take the order from the taller, more muscular man.

Caboose looked up at Donut’s face and frowned looking down in slight shame. “I am sorry Church did that to your face.” He commented sadly. 

Donut forced a smile. His face looked pretty good on the left side but most of the right side had been burnt off. The skin was rough and the flesh had been blazed off from his cheek, up the side of his eye, and skimmed part of his ear. “It’s ok Caboose, he didn’t mean to.”

Caboose nodded and looked up at Donut. He still looked like Donut with his dyed blond hair, brown eyes, and diamond stud earrings…

Caboose glanced up at Donut and noticed he only had one earring in. “What happened to your other earring, Cheesecake?” 

Donut raised a brow and lifted his hand to feel the right side of his face.

And as Caboose had said, his earring was missing. Had he taken it out? He didn’t think so. When was the last time he had it in?

Donut tried thinking through the events of today and the day before. He ~~hoped~~ thought he must have just misplaced it somewhere.

“Um. I don’t know. It’s not too big of a deal though.”

Caboose nodded and watched as Donut still seemed lost in thought. “Brownie?”

Caboose’s voice snapped Donut out of his thoughts as he smiled up at his friend who was still waiting in line. “Yes? Oh right, what can I get for ya?” Donut asked, dismissing all previous thoughts. 

Caboose took a glance at his hand and read some words that had been roughly scribbled on. Caboose squinted at the words and then smiled taking a newspaper from the rack that was off to the side of the counter. “An orange juice for me and a black coffee for Church please.”

Donut nodded. “Coming right up.” He then walked over to his work station and began brewing another batch of coffee. He walked back over to the counter where Caboose was. He’d get his orange juice when the coffee was done. He didn’t have to do much but get the bottle out of the fridge.

“How’d you sleep?”

Caboose looked up at Donut and smiled. “I slept very good, Eclair. How about you?”

Donut yawned. “Pretty good, have you spoken to Tucker recently?”

Caboose shook his head. “Church said not to bother him.” He informed. "He's having one of _those_ days." 

“Oh. Well, hope he’s doing ok.”

Caboose nodded. “But Church and I are finishing up the mission from last week.”

“Wish I could help. Not sure if Church wants me to though based on what happened last time.” Donut joked. 

“It was not your fault, Buttercream.” Caboose took a look at the newspaper and flipped to the cartoons. He did not know how to read very well but the pictures were nice. “Church says it should not be too hard, so we are good on help.”

Donut nodded and turned to go get Caboose’s Orange Juice and Church’s coffee. He took the Juice out of the little white fridge and placed it on the counter. He then took the coffee pot and began pouring it into a styrofoam cup. When he was done he placed a little white lid on the cup and picked up the Juice, carrying it over to Caboose. 

“Here you go. Be careful, the coffee’s hot.” He said with a smile.

Caboose nodded taking a five-dollar bill out of his wallet and sliding it in the tip jar. Pastry had said they were friends so he didn’t need to pay, but he liked putting money in the pretty glass jar. He shoved the newspaper under his arm and picked up the orange juice and coffee.

“Bye, Danish!” Caboose called, leaving the shop.

“Goodbye, Caboose. Tell Church I said hi!” Donut called back as he left. 

Donut yawned taking a sip of his coffee 

* * *

Church looked up from his phone seeing Caboose in front of him holding a coffee cup with a huge smile on his face. “Good morning, Church! I got you your coffee.” He said, holding out the styrofoam cup. Church took his attention off of Caboose and on his drink. He shoved his phone in his pocket and took the cup from Caboose.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, taking a sip.

Caboose nodded. “I also got a newspaper.” He said holding it out.

Church took it from him and leaned against the brick wall of the building behind him. He unfolded the paper and began reading while Caboose sat at his feet sipping his orange juice. 

Church glanced down at the other male. He was way too big to be blocking the sidewalks like that, he thought returning to the news. He took a sip of his drink, examining the title of one of the paragraphs.

_ -6 found dead on Adams avenue- _

“Oh shit.”

Tucker was going to be pissed.

“What is wrong, Church?”

Church looked down at Caboose and wrinkled up the paper. “Nothing, you ready?” He asked, taking a long sip of coffee. Caboose smiled as he got up. They walked down the corner and Church threw away the paper and his cup into a nearby trash can. 

“Throw away your shit and let’s go.”

Caboose nodded, throwing his cup away. 

Church continued walking down the street as Caboose followed. He stopped at an old, seemingly abandoned building. The front door was on the side of the structure in a little alley-like area. That way no one would see if they busted in. Church looked around the premises. It wasn’t very populated so they wouldn’t be spotted. He looked for traffic cams but the whole area seemed blocked by trees. Not very visible. 

Made sense.

Church walked down the alley, stopping at the steel door. He quietly jiggled the door handle. 

Locked.

“Caboose?”

Caboose stopped looking up at the sky to peer at Church. His best friend raised a brow and gestured to the door.

“Oh. I can help.” Caboose said with a smile.

Church nodded and Caboose rushed over to the door. Church then backed up while Caboose grabbed the handle of the metal door. He jerked it back and ripped the door off its hinges, tossing the piece of metal behind him with a loud clunk.

“Doors open.” He said, smiling back at Church.

“Thanks, buddy,” Church said, moving past him and walking into the building. 

The people in the room stared as Church and Caboose sauntered in. Caboose stood behind and to the right of Church and waved at the group of men. The place looked bigger on the inside. It looked to be all one room and there were lines of tables with packages on them. There were about 8 men in total, and they were all looking at Church, some glaring with vicious eyes. 

“Miss me assholes?” Church asked with a grin.

“Church…” A man with brown spikey hair spoke up, moving away from his desk to the front of the room

Church eyed the man. “Where’s my money, Rex?”

Rex rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, the thing is. We need more time.”

“Bullshit, I gave you  _ enough  _ time.”

“Well, 50k is a lot.”

Church glared at Rex. “I had someone calculate it. It should be manageable. That is if you’re not spending it on something else, or stealing my product.” Rex went silent and Church moved forward, grabbing the front of the other man’s shirt, pulling him forward so he was face to face with Church. “So unless my product is going missing...you better pay your fucking dues!” 

Church glared when Rex said nothing and pushed the man behind him, tossing him towards Caboose. 

“Caboose?” Church asked darkly, turning his attention back to the group of men that have by now moved away from their tables.

Caboose grabbed Rex and restrained him, keeping him faced forward so his men could see his facial expression. 

“No, don’t.” Rex whimpered.

Church stared at the seven men who’ve taken a step forward due to Caboose grabbing their "boss". 

“Where’s my money?” Church repeated.

No one answered and Church glanced back to Caboose and nodded. Caboose then took Rex’s arm and twisted it behind the man’s back until he heard a loud snap.

“I am sorry but you are a very bad man.” Caboose whispered to Rex.

In Caboose's mind, there was a reason why Church was his best friend. Church was very smart. He told him who the good guys were and who the bad guys were. Church told him he was the good guy because he hurt all of the bad guys. He was like a superhero. 

So he didn’t mind punishing the bad guy. 

A few of the men stepped forward as Caboose broke Rex’s arm. It was silent until one of the men pulled out a gun and aimed it at Church. “You’re gonna regret that.” The man said.

Church instantly dropped to the ground as the bullet passed by where he would’ve been. The shot flew by and hit the back wall, barely leaving a dent. 

Church looked up slightly from his spot of kneeling on the ground. He placed his hand on the cold stone floor and tilted his head at the people in front of him. He smiled and the ground  _ emitted _ in flames before him. 

The three men that stepped forward caught fire, screaming in pain before falling to the ground. Consumed and engulfed in flames, the ground under them burnt black. The other men stood frozen, forced to watch in fear as their co-workers let out their final whimpers and their bodies stop twitching.

The three men laid motionless on the floor as they amounted to crisps within seconds.

Church smiled, t he fire visible in his eyes. 

He loved it.

It was sick, wasn’t it?

To be enjoying something so painful.

“Anybody else want to try something?” Church asked, picking himself off the ground. When none of the remaining men said anything, Church smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed, glancing at the burnt dead bodies in front of him. “Someone clean this up. I’ll be back in a few days, have my money by then.” 

The men said nothing and a few began hauling the bodies away. Church turned around and nodded to Caboose as they left the building. Caboose instantly got the idea he was trying to convey and pushed Rex away and off to the side, before following closely behind his friend. 

“What now, Church?” Caboose asked once they made it outside.

Church continued walking down the sidewalk and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Now, I’ve got some calls I need to make.”

* * *

“Sarge needs you in the conference room,” Connecticut told him as she leaned against the doorframe. “No rush or anything. I’m sure he just wants to tell you about his dumb conspiracies.” She joked.

Simmons nodded at Connecticut as he leaned against the cabinet in the break room, watching as she then waved goodbye and left him alone. Simmons sighed as he turned around and poured a cup of coffee for Sarge. He picked up the mug and then began making his way to the conference room. Pushing, the d oor open, he walked in, immediately seeing Sarge seated at the table.

“Ah, Simmons. Come. Sit.”

Simmons nodded and moved over to an empty seat at the table. He placed the coffee mug by Sarge and the older man gave a nod in response. “Thank you, private.”

“You said you needed me, sir?” 

“Simmons, I have a special mission I need you to accompany me for.” Sarge said with a grin. 

Simmons nodded. “Yes sir, I’ll clear my schedule.”

_ Sarge smiled. “Good, now recently today I was assigned to help out a group of teens who have witnessed a murder.” Sarge then leaned down by the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. “I had a sketch artist come in and draw a description of the person.” He said as he handed the drawing to Simmons.  _

_ Simmons took one look at the photo. The drawing was of a person with his hair perfectly parted. He had kind eyes and an unmistakable amount of scarring on the right side of his face. He had a single earring in his left ear. It was a diamond stud. However, there wasn’t one in the other ear.  _

_ Simmons knew exactly who it was. _

_ Donut. _

_ Oh shit. That was bad. Extremely bad. _

_ “Donut?” He mumbled, looking at the drawing in pure panic. _

_ “Simmons? Do you know this criminal?” _

_ Simmons looked up at his boss and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Um, well. I- I.” _

_ “Good! Take me to him.” _

The flash ended as quickly as it had come. 

It still spooked him sometimes, how suddenly they sometimes appeared. He still must've needed to practice deferring from visions and reality and stopping them from coming unwantedly.

Simmons sighed quietly to himself. Thank god he knew that was coming. How the hell was he supposed to fix this? They knew what Donut looked like.

Well, Sarge knew.

So did the teens that described him.

“Simmons?”

Simmons looked up at Sarge and snapped out of his thoughts. “Sorry, sir. What were you saying?”

Sarge raised a brow. “As I was saying, recently today I was assigned to help out a group of teens who claim to have witnessed a murder.” Sarge then leaned down by the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. “I had a sketch artist come in and draw a description of the person.” He said as he handed the drawing to Simmons. 

Simmons took another look at the drawing. 

Yup, that was definitely Donut.

What the hell were they going to do?

Simmons thought out his options for a moment. He could take Sarge to Tucker. Tucker would be able to fix this. 

He hoped.

“The first thing we're going to do is go to the scene of the spotting.” Sarge said with a smile. He stood up and Simmons handed him back the photo. Sarge took it and folded it up, shoving it in his pocket. 

“You ready, private?”

“Yes sir.”

* * *

Carolina tiredly walked into the storage room. She had to open a few drawers from the cabinets until she finally found what she was looking for.

“Bingo” She mumbled.

Carolina smiled as she pulled a black VCR tape from the drawer. It should have been the footage from the “massacre” 

She really needed to get someone to organize this shit.

Carolina left the room and walked into the conference room. No one was in there, so Sarge must have just left. She walked over to the TV and placed the VCR tape in the slot; taking the remote, she lifted the remote and pressed play on the video. 

The footage stalled for a moment before it started playing the tape in black and white. The image showed the corner area where the crime was committed. Carolina watched as a few men grouped up with a few more. The men turned around and moved almost completely out of eyesight. She saw a flash and then another person walk up and watched from the sidewalk.

Georgia.

What was Detective Georgia doing down there? He was probably investigating, or so she guessed.

Georgia did a double-take at the sight the cameras couldn’t see. He paused and his eyes widened in fear. He then ran away down the street.

“What the hell?” She mumbled, replaying the tape. Under no circumstances were her men supposed to run away from danger. 

She watched as Georgia ran out of eyesight. A crowd of people walked in front of the alley-way, there was another slight flash, and then there was no one. The men weren’t visible and neither were any of the people that had killed them.

She replayed the video and the results were the same. 

She watched it again, hoping she had missed something. 

And again. 

Carolina groaned turning off the TV; taking the VCR out, she held it in her hands. She then moved back and sat upon the table Staring at the tape. This whole situation was really pissing her off.

“Knock knock?” Wyoming asked from the doorway. 

Carolina looked up at him and hopped off the table.

“Yes, Wyoming?”

“Those progress reports came in.” He told her. 

Carolina nodded and walked up to him, handing him the tape. “Send that over to CT and York. Tell them to analyze it again.” 

Wyoming nodded and gave her a slight salute before turning to leave.

“Wyoming?” 

“Yes, chief?”

“Have you seen Detective Georgia today?”

“He was supposed to be in today, but I have not seen him.” Wyoming informed.

Carolina nodded. “Alright. You can go now.”

He nodded, leaving the room and Carolina sighed.

What the fuck was going on?

* * *

“I don’t see anything, sir.”

“Keep looking, Simmons. According to those kids, our suspect was spotted leaving the alley and heading this way.” Sarge growled as he continued searching the ground of the sidewalk.

Simmons nodded as he looked in the cracks of the concrete. He was trying his best to convince Sarge that it was hopeless and that they would find nothing without Sarge getting mad and telling him to leave. But if they did find something…

Simmons  _ had _ to find it.

He couldn’t risk it if Sarge found something that would connect to the killer being Donut.

“Move it, bum.” A stranger hissed, pushing past Sarge.

“We are on official police business!” Sarge growled at the stranger, forgetting his mission of searching. 

And that’s when something shiny caught Simmons's eye. 

For a split second, right where Sarge had just started searching there was a little glimmer in the light. Simmons instantly dove over to where Sarge was. He looked through the moss that grew on the building. It only took a few seconds, but he found the shimmer that caught his eye. 

It was an earring. 

A diamond stud earring.

Much like Donut’s

Simmons scooped it up and quickly shoved it in his pocket while Sarge was distracted yelling at the stranger. 

Sarge sighed as the stranger walked away. He looked down at Simmons who made it seem like he was searching.

“Find anything Simmons?”

Simmons looked over his shoulder at Sarge and shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

His boss sighed and kicked at a pebble on the ground. “Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

Sometimes, it all became too much.

Sometimes, he couldn't push them away.

Sometimes, their screams stayed echoed in his ears.

Times like that are when he needed to be alone. To stay away from everything for a little while. Because when he opened his eyes, he knew that all he’d be able to see are their corpses. Still moving and begging for assistance. 

Confused and helpless.

They didn’t usually know that they were dead. After all, they couldn’t move on until their unfinished business had been completed. After that, they either went to someplace better, or someplace worse. Regardless, they couldn't move on. Sometimes he tried to help them. But it was tedious. It was a side quest. It was also something that reminded him of his power when everything he did forced him to try and forget. 

But they  _ didn’t _ understand that.

All they saw was someone who could understand and see them. And they wanted his help. They didn’t understand how painful it was. 

He opened his eyes in the dark room. They still lurked around him and cried. It was just, quieter. Which meant he was doing good. He kept his eyes open and looked around. They didn’t seem to notice him, and if they did, they had given up on trying to get his attention. 

He could barely hear them whimpering. 

Small cries for help. 

Sometimes, they just tried to talk to him. They asked him things about himself and told him stories about themselves. He tried to ignore them. But, it got pretty hard when he was trying to work and they were pestering him. 

He closed his eyes once more and concentrated on pushing them back. Very slowly he could feel them drift away. He opened his eyes and looked around the now empty room. Sighing, he saw a little girl in the corner. She was a beautiful girl with long brown hair and caramel skin. The girl had her head on her knees and was crying. 

_ “Baby?” Those words echoed through the room, yet they didn't seem to be coming from the little girl, for her mouth stayed motionless.  _

He looked over at the girl. Why couldn’t he push her away? That same girl always stuck with him for some reason and he couldn’t figure out why.

_ “Please come back.” _

Maybe it was because he had a soft spot for her. Maybe it was because she reminded him of somebody. Maybe he secretly didn’t want to push her away. He somewhat understands her pleas. She mourned the loss of someone.

So did he. 

It was the reason Mothers were a tough subject for him.

The ringing coming from his phone caused him to jump. “What the fuck?” He mumbled as he stood up and walked over to the bedside table. He flipped on the light in the room and grabbed his phone. The girl in the corner didn’t seem to notice the change of scenery and kept crying. He looked down at the phone and swiped accept.

“Grif! What the fuck!” Someone on the other line yelled. 

Grif rubbed his eyes as he adjusted to the light in the room. “Kai, what do you want?” 

“I saw the newspaper asshole. Was that you?” 

Damn, she really sounded angry.

“No, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t needed." Grif explained, his brow furrowing at her accusations. "What are you doing reading a newspaper anyway? I thought you were too cool for that?”

“You dumbass. That’s not the point. They’re going to arrest all of you guys.” He heard her hiss. 

“Don’t worry," Grif scoffed. "I’m sure Simmons has it handled.”

“And if he doesn’t?!”

Grif sighed. “Then I’ll handle it.”

Of course, that didn’t ease the fury of his stubborn sister. “Bullshit! What if they come for you guys?" She bit out. "I can’t lose you Grif. I can’t run the bar by myself. Who’s going to punch the guys that disobey the don’t touch rule?”

“I’m going to be fine." Grif eased. "If it makes you feel any better I’ll stop by soon.”

“What would make me feel better is if you stop being a dumbass!”

“It wasn’t me, Sis.” Grif pleaded. 

Grif listened to Sister’s angry rambling for a second longer, then deciding he had had enough, he said goodbye and hung up the phone. Sitting down on his bed, he rubbed his eyes. 

He knew he should go to sleep but he didn’t want to deal with the nightmares that would come with it. 

Grif sighed, looking up at the girl in the corner who had gone from bawling to quiet sniffles. He looked at her and she looked up at him. Grif froze. 

Looking at them was a one-way ticket to them knowing something was up. 

The little girl smiled softly and waved to him. Grif looked up at her. 

She reminded him of Kaikaina a little bit.

He waved back at her when his phone started ringing again. He rolled his eyes and quickly answered the device. “Listen, Kai. I promise I had nothing to do with it and I’ll come over later.” He stressed. 

“Woah, It’s Church. Not Kai.”

“Oh, hey.” Grif muttered. 

“What was all that stuff about Kai?” Church asked from the other line.

“Nothing.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Grif sighed, looking over at the girl who was still staring at him. “No. Now, what do you want?”

“We gotta meet up today. I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?”

“No, I did. What time?”

“8, at the warehouse. Tell Simmons when he gets home from work.” Church instructed. 

“We all gotta go?” Grif whined.

“Yes, this is serious and can’t happen again.”

“Got it.” Grif groaned.

This was bullshit. He wasn’t even the one who went on that mission. Grif slumped back on the bed and eyed the corner. The girl smiled up at him. There was definitely something different about her.

“Hi.” She said with kind eyes.

* * *

Donut smiled as he waved goodbye to the last customer of the day. He yawned and hung up his apron. It was about 7:30. The cafe was open for a long time, considering they were mainly known for selling coffee and pastries. 

Making his way over to the front door, he flipped over the open sign so it read closed and walked back to the front desk. He then took a sip from his coffee when his phone rang. Donut picked up the phone with his favorite lightish red case and accepted the call. 

“This is Donut, how may I be of your service?”

“First things first, don’t greet yourself like that.”

“Oh, hi Church.” Donut said with a cheery voice since Church sounded upset. He was such a grump, he could use more happiness in his life.

“Have you read the newspaper?”

Donut shifted in his spot. “No, why?”

Donut heard Church clear his throat on the other end before he spoke again. “6 found dead on Adams Avenue. The gruesome deaths people are calling The Massacre on Adams avenue led to 6 dead bodies. Most forms of death are currently unknown while-”

“Ok, I get it. That’s pretty bad.”

“No shit Donut!” Church sighed. “It’s fine. We’re meeting up at the warehouse at 8. Can you make it?”

“Definitely. I’ll be across town in a few minutes.” Donut said with a smile.

“Stay unnoticed. You know the rules.” And with that Church hung up.

“Like I don’t know the rules.” Donut scoffed before taking another sip of his coffee and looking around the cafe. He wasn’t opening tomorrow due to repairs and such, so he should be able to sleep in tomorrow. “Thank god I’m interviewing for interns.” He mumbled. Donut usually didn’t ask for help, but he really needed it. 

Donut then tucked his phone into his pocket and exited the building out the back entrance. He locked the door and looked out in the distance. Behind the store was a ghost town. There was nothing there but fields of dead grass. He could cut through there and be at the warehouse in a few seconds. 

He took a final sip of his coffee and brushed his hair out of his face. Donut looked behind him tossed the empty styrofoam cup into the trash can. He looked back to the field and pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. It wasn’t bright out but they helped keep bugs out of his eyes. 

Donut looked out at the empty field in front of him and took a deep breath.

Then, he ran.

The best part about his power was that he didn’t need a car. Running was faster, but it did take some practice. He had to be careful not to trip. 

Well, he thought the actual best part was that everything seemed to have slowed down when it really hadn’t. Clouds seemed as though they weren’t moving, birds wings flapped slowly, grass and leaves blew back from the force.

To him, it felt slow.

But, to the rest of the world, he was moving faster than they could even comprehend. 

Donut made it to the back of the warehouse and carefully halted his movements. He always thought he was lucky for the gift he got. He called it super-speed but Church had told him time and time again that the correct term was agility. 

Donut took a deep breath and yawned. His handicap really held him back sometimes. But hey! 10.8 seconds and he’s the whole way across town. 

And no one saw anything. 

* * *

The drive home was peaceful enough. There was traffic but it wasn’t too bad. Simmons made it to his apartment and fumbled for his keys. He kept his computer bag in one hand and unlocked the door with the other. Lightly pushing the door open with his foot, he stepped into the front room. 

The apartment was small, fit with a kitchen, living area, bedroom, and extra room. That was all they really needed though. 

The only problem was that it was dark. None of the lights were on and it was quiet. Too quiet.

“I’m home!” Simmons called in the seemingly empty apartment. 

When no one answered Simmons sighed and placed his bag on the counter. It was a sudden wave of nausea that made him want to bolt for the bathroom. He held it down and made his way to the bedroom. The door was shut and light seeped through the bottom of the door. He knocked lightly. “Grif?”

“Come in.” He heard faintly come from the other side.

Simmons opened the door and saw Grif on the bed, finger swiping on his phone. There was no light on but a desk lamp and there seemed to be not much activity going on in general. 

“How was that stupid thing you go to?” 

“You mean my job?” Simmons asked with a brow raised. 

“Yea, that thing.” 

“It was ok. We have a few new problems, but nothing Tucker and I won’t be able to fix.” Simmons informed. 

Grif snorted. “Good luck with that. He’s been MIA for a while now.”

“Is he ok?”

“Who knows, this is Tucker we're talking about.”

Simmons nodded and held back a wave of nausea. “You see anything today?”

Grif looked up at him and raised a brow. “You mean the dead?” He asked. For some reason, Simmons always danced around the fact that ghosts were visible to Grif. Maybe it was because Simmons knew Grif didn't like talking about it. 

Grif shook his head. “Nope, nothing.” He mumbled, lying through his teeth. 

“You sure?" Simmons questioned. "No gh-”

“I already said I haven’t been seeing anything. Why are you being so paranoid? Do we need to get you admitted again?” Grif snapped, annoyed as he looked back down at his phone and continued with whatever he was doing.

“Don’t make this about me..."Simmons trailed off, slightly hurt. "And I’m not paranoid. Just concerned.” 

“I’m the one that should be concerned." Grif tried to joke, slightly guilty for what he said. "You’ve been home for 5 minutes and you haven’t been sick.”

Simmons shrugged. “It hasn’t been too bad today, I’ll take some Pepto or something if I need to.”

“Out of everybody I know with a “gift”. I think you have the worst handicap.” Grif said making air bunnies to the word ‘gift’ 

“What about Caboose?”

“Yea forgot about Caboose. I guess you can say he has it worse.” Grif said, somewhat sympathetically. 

Simmons nodded. “We have ours later in the day, his is a constant.” 

“Tucker doesn’t have to put up with this handicap bullshit,” Grif grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Simmons laughed. “Don’t be a bitch about it.”

Grif groaned. “Why do we call it a ‘handicap anyway? That’s such a stupid name.”

“It's a sickness that's put into place to weaken us." Simmons snickered. "What else would you call it? 

Grif shrugged. “I don’t know.” He mumbled.

Simmons almost laughed but was held back by the urge to puke. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it in anymore. 

His handicap was absolutely the worst part of his day. The way he could feel his mouth water a bile rise in his throat. Every day it was the same thing. 

Simmons quickly made his way to the bathroom and lifted the toilet bowl lid. He kneeled in front of the bowl, a familiar pang of anxiety settling in his stomach as he waited for the worst. Sometimes Grif would follow him in and stay with him, but Simmons didn't expect him to do that every night. It was gross, he admitted that. No one wanted to sit by him while he tossed up his insides. 

Simmons bit his lip, the cool white material of the toilet not at all soothing, In fact, it might have made him feel sicker from the memories. He took a deep breath, wincing, as he retched once and then twice, and then it was over. 

Simmons sighed, grabbing a towel from the counter and wiping his face. 

“By the way, Church wants us at the warehouse at 8!” Grif called from the other room. 

Simmons sighed and grabbed for a toothbrush. Hopefully, Tucker would be there and he could help him with his Sarge problem. 

* * *

“Come on Georgia. Pick up.” Carolina groaned. 

At this point, the police department was pretty much empty. There were a few people finishing up their work, leaving her in her office, desperately trying to get a hold of Georgia.

“This is Detective Georgia of the Metropolitan police department.” His voice spoke over the phone after ringing several times. 

A spark of relief fell over her and she answered quickly. “Georgia, this is Carolina. I'm calling to see-”

“Please leave a message at the beep and I’ll get to it, maybe later.” Georgia’s smug voice spoke.

Carolina sighed in defeat as she heard the beep. “Head Detective Georgia, this is Carolina. You weren’t at work today and I have some questions regarding an incident a few days ago.  _ Please _ answer your phone, bye.” She hung up the phone and sat back in her chair with a huff. She could always file a missing persons report if he continued to be unreachable.

“Want me to try calling him?” North asked from the doorway. 

“You're still here? I thought you went home with South?” Carolina asked. North and South were partners. They were siblings, and usually, Carolina wouldn’t allow people of such importance to each other work together but, they worked well as a team. Besides South tended to ditch her teammate to save her own tail, and Carolina was sure she would stick by her brother. 

North laughed half-heartedly. “Nah, I had some...things to finish up. Did you want me to try and contact him?” 

Carolina shook her head. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up. He probably just forgot to call in sick or something.” North suggested.

“Maybe. But he’s head detective and was following a pretty important case. If he disappears out of nowhere, then something really bad could have happened.”

“He’ll be ok, this is Georgia we're talking about. He’ll be back in the office insulting us and stealing my rightfully earned Bearclaw in no time.” North said positively.

Carolina chuckled. Maybe he was right. “Thanks.”

North nodded. “Anytime Chief.” 

* * *

Church sighed in his seat. He had never been patient, so this was annoying. It was even more annoying at the end of the day when his handicap was being a little bitch. He rubbed his temple impatiently. 

Why did it have to be headaches? 

Church shook off that thought. At least it was better than Caboose’s handicap. He crossed his arms and waited while Donut and Caboose sat at the other end of the table talking. He checked the time on his phone for the fifth time. “I swear to god. If fatass forgot to tell Simmons about this, imma kill him.”

“You’re too hard on Grif.” Donut commented with a smile. 

Church groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Just saying, he gets stuff done and always finishes on top.”

“He better.” Church hissed, disregarding how inappropriate Donut’s sentence seemed. He was about to pick up his phone and call Simmons when Grif walked in and slumped down in a seat with his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. Simmons followed behind him and sat down next to Grif.

“Finally.” Church commented, obviously annoyed. 

Grif rolled his eyes. “Kissass insisted on going under the speed limit and stopped at every single stoplight.” 

“Because that’s the law!” Simmons stressed next to him.

Grif snorted. “You drive like a grandma.”

“And you drive like you’re straight out of a Fast and the Furious movie. But do I complain?” Simmons retorted. 

Grif looked stunned. “You wasted a reference opportunity on Fast and the Furious?” He mocked as if it was the most unreasonable thing Simmons could have ever done. 

Church groaned. If he had to listen to another squabbling argument on movies he was going to lose it. “Both of you shut the fuck up.”

Simmons and Grif quieted down and Church eyed them. “We have serious shit to discuss now that you guys are  _ finally  _ here.” He said, his headache pounding against his ears.

Grif leaned back in his chair. “So you’re gonna bitch about me being late, but Tucker doesn't show up at all and that’s fine?” He asked irritatedly. 

Church gritted his teeth. “Tucker doesn't make sloppy work and have the police on our asses.” He kept his tone at a reasonable volume but the ire was practically visible in his voice. 

Grif was about to speak about how the whole thing wasn’t his fault and that he wasn’t even there, but the look on Church’s face was enough to make him want to keep his mouth shut.

“Ok, first of all,” Church said, pulling out a rolled-up newspaper from his pocket and unrolling it on the table. “This is bad.” He stated, looking over at Simmons since he was the one who worked at the police station. “Do you have any news about this?” He asked.

Simmons eyed the newspaper but happily contributed. “Yea, actually. A few teens came in claiming to have seen something. According to Sarge, Carolina sent the kids to him. This probably means she didn’t see anything in the case. Which is good for us, but bad because the kids did see something.”

“Oh no, that is very bad. What did they see?” Caboose asked from the end of the table near Church. 

Simmons bit his lip nervously. “Well, they scrounged up an accurate sketch of Donut. They also told Sarge he was magical, luckily that part Sarge thought was some sort of metaphor. But the kids did give us an address for where they spotted Donut.”

Donut shifted in his seat as Simmons continued. “Anyway we checked it out and Sarge didn’t see anything but…” Simmons trailed off as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a diamond stud earring. “You may want to keep better track of your belongings.” He said, handing the earring over to Donut.

Donut reluctantly took it and wiped it off, shoving it into his pocket. “Sorry.” He managed sheepishly. 

Church sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is what I’m talking about guys. We’re getting too sloppy. Remember the rules for god’s sake.”

Caboose looked down in his seat. “Yea but, those rules are very difficult.”

“There’s only 5, Caboose.” Church snapped.

“Sorry.”

Church groaned. “It’s ok, Caboose.” 

Church then glanced over to Donut. “From now on all jewelry comes off before a job, and try to stay away from the police station until Simmons can fix the whole ‘Sarge can spot you out as a perpetrator in a crowd’ thing” Donut nodded tiredly and Church continued. “I’m thinking that we should have fewer people work together. 4 of us at the same time obviously brought on too much attention. So stay in smaller groups.” The group nodded and Church finished up. “No more sloppy work, I mean it.” Church sighed. “Anything else I should know?”

Caboose shook his head. “Not really. I think the mission went fine...except for that one guy that saw us and ran away like rahjhaa.” Caboose emphasized his point by impersonating the guy’s scream.

Everyone just stared at him. 

“What man saw us, Caboose?” Simmons asked.

“Oh you know, just that detective guy.”

“Sarge?”

Caboose shook his head. “No, the mean one. That always wears that green coat.”

Church sighed. “You mean  _ Head _ Detective Georgia?”

Caboose nodded.” Yes! That was him.”

“Goddammit, Caboose.”

Silence filled the room as they all then looked towards Church for what to do now. He wasn't necessarily the “leader” No one was. But, it was kind of an unsaid decision that he was mostly in charge.

Church rubbed his head. “OK, uh. Simmons, you get that Sarge thing taken care of, Donut be more careful, and I’ll call Tucker about Georgia.” He declared. 

Caboose smiled and then put his hand in the middle of the table. “Aaaand Break!” 

Simmons groaned. “Caboose, no. This isn’t the fucking Breakfast Club.”

“Breakfast club? Really Simmons?” Grif said, giving him an unimpressed look.

“I thought that one didn’t  _ suck _ that  _ bad _ .” Donut grinned.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Simmons complained. 

Church sighed, his headache pounding against his skull. If he had to hear one more argument-

“I’m just trying to add  _ feeling _ in my words.”

“Ok enough!” Church snapped. “You guys can get the fuck out now.”

Simmons nodded and got up as Donut followed, getting up from his chair.

“Come on Simmons, let’s go get Taco Bell.” Grif mused standing up, closely following Simmons. Donut waved bye to them both before following Grif and Simmons out the door as Caboose got up from his seat, about to follow them out.

“Not you Caboose. You live here remember?” Church reminder tiredly. 

Caboose nodded as he sat back down. “Oh, right.”

Church rolled his eyes, ignoring the other male as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He quickly swiped through all the apps before landing on the phone icon. He dialed Tucker’s number and held the phone up to his ear, waiting for an answer.

“What do you want, Dude? I’m kinda busy” Tucker stressed, slightly irritated.

“Long story short. Simmons, Donut, and Caboose fucked up last week-” Church began explaining. 

“-Weren’t you also on that mission?” Tucker questioned, cutting him off.

“Yes. but it was their fault.” Church said defensively. “Anyway. Georgia saw us.”

“Don’t worry, I’m taking care of it.” Tucker spoke using the tone of voice when he was about to fuck somebody up. Church spoke in that tone before he used his magic as well. 

They probably both used it because they both found some sort of satisfaction in what they did. 

Like Texas always said, you should enjoy what you do. 

Church winced, maybe thinking about her wasn’t such a good idea. 

“Ok well, enjoy." He grumbled, hanging up the phone.

* * *

“Yeah bye,” Tucker said into the cellular device. He hung it up and stuffed it back into his pocket, feeling the handle of the knife that now accompanied his phone. “Now, where were we?” He questioned, looking up. 

Georgia stood at the end of the dimly lit alleyway, his gun pointing directly at Tucker. 

Tucker rolled his eyes. The guy was way too cocky for his own good, and it was starting to annoy the fuck out of him.

“You were about to tell me who the hell you’re working for.” Georgia spat at him. 

It was kind of funny how he thought he was the one in control in this situation.

Tucker chuckled and his eyes flashed bright aqua for a mere second. He blinked once again and the color dissipated from his eyes. It was a trick he liked to used for one reason; it looked fucking cool. 

Walking forward towards Georgia, the world seemingly blacked out around them, leaving the only thing Georgia could see being Tucker coming to a halt in front of him and the darkness that surrounded them. 

The alleyway was gone and it was pitch black. The only thing lighting up the dark atmosphere around them was Tucker’s eyes, which had shone bright aqua again. Georgia felt himself drop his gun as he watched it falter to the ground in pure shock.

Tucker took his opportunity to his advantage as he stood in front of Georgia in one second and was behind him in the next. He reached for the knife previously in his pocket, and pulled it out, raising it to Georgia’s throat, slightly skimming the skin. 

“What are you?” Georgia whimpered as blood speckles dripped down his neck.

Tucker took the knife and sliced it roughly against his skin. A smile crept across his face as he felt Georgia’s hot pools of blood softly trailing down his fingertips

Georgia choked on his own swell as he tried gasping for air. 

Tucker smiled wickedly and leaned in closer to his victim. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” He whispered darkly.


	2. Cauchemars

It was dark. 

As usual.

It always started that way.

He couldn’t see but continued walking despite that. Looking down, he flinched, noticing the ground was up to his feet in cold water. He could feel it soaking his socks as he walked, giving him a rather unsettling feeling. 

It was quiet.

It was unnatural.

He knew there should have been sound in the long hallway he was in. 

The water sloshing around as he walked, created no such sound. It wasn’t right…

There should have been some sort of noise. He was breathing. He should have been able to hear the sounds of his own voice, the sounds of him calling out Simmons’s name. 

Something. 

The patterns of the water reflected onto the ceiling, like some kind of demonic light show. Which was odd because the room held no light to back the attraction up. Under normal circumstances, it would look cool.

But now, he couldn’t help but sense an unsettling feeling in his gut. Or the anticipation that came from the idea that at any given moment he would be jumped. In short, he didn’t feel safe. 

Another noticeable thing was that it was cold. Unbelievably cold. Even in his hoodie, he had to rub at his arms to find some kind of warmth. He could feel goosebumps on his arms and his teeth slightly chattering as the freezing water at his feet made his ankles go numb. 

He walked in a single direction in the room for what seemed like hours. In fact, it might have actually been hours, until he finally reached a long door in the emptiness of the hallway. 

It was an exact replica of the one in his room from 16 years ago. He must have not forgotten what it looked like, even after all these years.

He held the silver handle and reluctantly, but slowly, opened the red detailed door. Stepping carefully into the room, he realized it had remained exactly as he left it. His bed in the corner, his dresser on the opposite wall. 

He had drawings scattering the walls. So much so that he could barely see the orange wallpaper that covered underneath. 

The drawings were a request by The Director. He told him to draw what he’d seen. Whether it was his nightmares, his demons, or the ghosts he had been with.

The Director started every training session by handing Grif a box of broken crayons and a piece of paper, forcing him to draw exactly what he had seen that day. Grif obliged, scribbling harsh and angry drawings of the dead onto the plain white paper. 

The Director then ended every session by handing him a pin and telling the counselor to help him pin it on the walls in his room.

As if he wanted Grif to be reminded every morning about what he could see. 

He walked further into the room and sat on the bed, staring off as the door shut behind him. Looking towards the closet door, he noticed that, as usual, it was shut. 

You ever hear the expression about skeletons in the closet?

He stood up and walked towards it. It was the only thing in that room not covered head to toe in pieces of paper.

(Even the back of the entrance door had crude drawings covering it.)

He stared at it a second longer and didn’t even notice when the rest of the room had disappeared behind him, turning back into the long, empty room with water inches high.

He didn’t open the door.

Didn’t even think about it.

It didn’t matter. 

The door opened anyway and pushed him into the empty room. He immediately screwed his eyes shut and could hear familiar screeching around him. Dirty, rough hands grabbed at him, coming from every direction and pulling him towards every direction.  _ Ripping _ him apart.

“Stop!”

But they wouldn’t. They didn’t care. Just kept pulling. He opened his eyes and they all noticed. Long, pale, and dis-morphed faces screaming in his face. Yelling at him to do something. They filled the room, cramping him in between bony bodies. He could feel their limbs, jerking, and bending in ways to get to him. Their grey skin peeled at the sides of their faces. 

They had no eyes. 

Just empty holes where their souls could have been seen, and a hole in their chest where their hearts used to be.

Inhuman and deteriorating. 

He clutched his ears and attempted to drown them out. 

“If you can’t do this, you are no use to me.” The Director’s voice spoke loud and clear.

They began clawing at his face, clamoring around him as he fell to the ground, filling up the access space he had left with limbs and melting faces.

“You’re useless if you can’t snuff them out of reality.”

He tried. It seemed much easier when it was just him in his empty room back in the apartment. 

It was when they were engulfing him, grinding him to nothing, but still expecting more out of him that he couldn’t do it. 

He covered his ears and crumbled into a ball. Trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

“Are you listening to me?!”

Grif woke up in a sweat, gasping for breath as he quickly turned to flip on the bedside lamp. He didn’t want it to be dark. He wouldn’t be able to pull himself together if he couldn’t see what lingered in the pitch-black room. 

He tossed the blanket off of him and focused on breathing. He hadn’t known he was hyperventilating until he remembered what Simmons had told him about getting over his nightmares. 

Fucking handicap, terror, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it.

“Grif? Are you alright?” Simmons asked next to him, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“Yea, just fine.” Grif breathed out eventually. “Go back to sleep.” He rested back into the bed, facing away from Simmons. He was sure his eyes were still on him, knowing that he wasn’t ok. 

Grif hoped he would get used to his nightmares eventually. He didn’t want to have to keep waking Simmons up at 3 am.

Simmons stayed seated up in the bed, watching him for a second longer, before he laid next to Grif and wrapped his arm around him; clutching him tightly. Simmons rested his head against the back of him and drifted back into sleep.

* * *

**Meet me at the Hideaway -Delivered 8:05 am**

**Not rlly in the mood -Received 8:07 am**

**Amuse me -Delivered 8:08 am**

**No -Received 8:08 am**

**Please? -Delivered 8:09**

**Fine. The bar right? -Received 8:09 am**

**That’s the one -Delivered 8:10 am**

**Be there in 10, don’t start shit -Received 8:11**

**I would never : ) -Delivered 8:12**

He smiled and tucked his phone into his pocket, taking a sip from his beer. 

“Can I help you?” He asked a male who had just slipped into the seat next to him. 

The male looked up at him. “No, I’m just sitting down.”

Tucker had seen the guy before. His spikey blond hair was recognizable anywhere, the tattoos trailing up his face made him even more noticeable. But one shouldn’t mistake him for a badass. He looked more like a string bean. Scrawny and tall. He was also at the bar every time Tucker was. Which meant the guy was a regular. He probably hung around every day. Maybe even lived there. 

“Don’t you usually sit over there?” Tucker asked, gesturing to a table across the bar.

The blond glanced behind him and then turned his attention back on Tucker. “Yea, well. I’m not welcome there anymore.”

“Why not?”

The guy shrugged. “Some guy kicked me out.” The man grumbled, agitation in his voice, 

Tucker shook his head, it was easy to give advice when the result didn’t affect you. “So? Show that mother fucker who’s boss.” 

The guy looked up from his drink. “Eh, I can’t do that.”He mustered sheepishly. 

Tucker raised a brow. “Why not?”

“He’s much stronger than me.”

“But you want to sit there, right?”

The blond looked back. “Right.” He nodded.

Tucker made eye contact with the helpless stranger, looked into his head, digging through nude thoughts and meaningless names. 

The thing about this guy was that his mind was weak and therefore easily convinced. Tucker’s eyes flashed a brief aqua as the man looked at him. “ _ Then take your spot back _ ,” Tucker commanded. “It’s not that fucking hard, just do it.”

The guy nodded, instantly changing his perspective as his mind cleared of all previous thoughts. The only conception swimming through his mind being the order’s Tucker placed there. 

-Take it back, make it yours-

Commands coursing through his head. 

“ _ Do it!”  _ Tucker growled out at him. 

The man stood up, leaving his drink behind. He aimlessly walked towards the table. Less like a human and more like some kind of zombie. He stood in front of the table and the guy who had taken his spot laughed at him and said something with the smuggest grin Tucker had ever seen. The blond snapped and punched the guy straight in the face; anger and someone else’s control consuming his emotions and ability to think logically.

The entire table began yelling out. Some cheering, some cursing. The guy stood up from his chair and returned the favor by punching the mind provoked man in the stomach, over and over, until blood exploded fruitlessly from his mouth. 

It became a full out fist fight. Glass was flying from broken bottles and people were clamoring around to cheer the group on. This resulted in citizens getting up from their seats to crowd around the table and join in routing. Which also led to some people getting hurt or pushed around. So other groups of people began forming little fights contrary to the big one that had started all of this.

It was chaos.

A beautiful chaos that Tucker was proud of.

Tucker laughed, lowering his head to stay out of sight as the chaos continued. “Fucking dumbass.” He muttered. 

One of the bouncers eventually saw the fight and rushed over to the left side of the bar to try and stop it, but the favor they got in return was a painful jab in the ribs by several people. 

The fights were fun to watch and the Hideaway was known for being prone to them. Nobody liked to see a fight get broken up. They wanted to see blood and gore. Possibly murder. 

Tucker did have to admit, it was amusing to watch. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing all day?” An unimpressed voice from behind him asked. 

Tucker kept his eyes on the fight across the bar. “Pretty much.” He responded. 

“That’s pathetic,” Church commented, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

Tucker spun his seat so that he was facing Church. “Correction, it’s entertaining.” He reproved. 

Church rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it is.” 

The bartender came around a second later, wiping a glass as Church tapped on the bar for a beer. “What did you want anyway?” He asked Tucker, watching as the bartender got his drink. 

“Just wanted to tell you I handled the Georgia problem.”

“Good,” Church affirmed. “Wasn’t he chief of police?” He then questioned suspiciously. 

Tucker nodded. “Yea, why?”

“Well, they won’t take too kindly to his murderer.” He quipped. 

“It’ll be fine.” Tucker scoffed. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

* * *

“Come back to bed.” Grif whined. 

Simmons straightened his tie in the mirror and rolled his eyes at Grif’s demands. “Then who will make money so you can afford to eat 8 times a day?”

Grif slumped against the bed frame. “You don’t have to quit, just say you're sick and can’t come in.” 

“I haven’t missed a day of work in the two years that I've been going.” Simmons protested.

Grif rolled his eyes. “Kiss-ass.”

“I can’t stay even if I wanted to. Doesn’t Tucker come over today?”

“Yea, so?” 

Simmons ignored his comments and unplugged his laptop charger from the wall by their bed. He tucked it into the pocket of his computer case and moved to leave when Grif grabbed him by his tie and pulled him directly into their bed. 

“Grif!” Simmons yelped as Grif attached to him and pulled the blanket over them. “You're wrinkling my clothes! I just got these dry cleaned.” Simmons exasperated, his voice rising to his common angry screech.

“Oh stop your squealing for a second. You can afford to be a few minutes late.”

“I do not squeal.” Simmons protested.

Grif nuzzled his head into Simmons’s neck. “You do too. Now shut up and enjoy the warmth of a bed like a normal person.”

“Well, we’re not normal people.”

“Don’t the rules state that we’re supposed to act like one?”

Simmons rolled his eyes. “Those rules are stupid and half of them are from movies.” He grumbled. 

“They’re mainly for Caboose.” Grif mumbled back. 

“Yea. well, normal people show up to work.”

Grif snorted. “That’s not true. Kai barely shows up to work. I cover for her so much,  _ I  _ should be receiving her paycheck.”

Simmons sighed. “Well, Kai didn’t necessarily grow up under normal circumstances.”

Grif nodded against him solemnly. He was aware of the childhood Kai had. Long story short; it was pretty sucky and mostly Grif’s fault. If he wasn’t born with his ability, then, she wouldn’t have had to endure what she did.”

Simmons relaxed under Grif and they laid comfortably like that for a few more minutes until Simmons looked down at his watch. “Ok, I’ve humored you long enough.” He insisted. “I’ve got to go to work now.”

Grif grumbled out an agitated response but let go of him nonetheless. “Have fun at hell.” He commented as Simmons walked towards the door with his stuff. 

Simmons straightened out his shirt. “I always do.”

Grif chuckled as Simmons left. “Nerd.”

* * *

Donut smiled against the couch. He knew he shouldn’t be laying down, he would just fall asleep. And he needed to be awake to interview someone for an internship. Especially since she should be arriving within the hour. 

Sometimes he wished his handicap only occurred in the afternoon. But He and Caboose must have been unlucky. They got theirs all day, every day. It was probably one of the reasons they were constantly ignored by the Director. 

Donut rubbed his eyes as he sat up, taking another glance towards Caboose. 

Caboose was his best friend and had been since the very beginning. So, whenever Church had things to do, or wanted to be alone, he would drop Caboose off with Donut. He didn’t mind. Caboose loved to come over and play with Donut’s dog; Freckles. 

“Who’s a good boy? You are! You are the good boy.” Caboose praised as he rubbed Freckle’s belly. The dog wagged its tail against the carpet and let out a few happy barks. 

Donut was pretty sure Freckles liked Caboose more than him. 

Donut smiled as the two played. “Did you want to give him a treat?” He asked politely. 

Caboose looked up at Donut and smiled, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Yes please.”

Donut nodded and got up from his spot on the couch, heading into the kitchen to search through the cupboards for the dog treats. He finally found a bag and dug out a few to give to Caboose. Walking back to the happy duo, he sat down next to Caboose on the floor and handed him the dog treats. 

“Thank you Danish!” Caboose said happily, taking the treats from Donut. 

Caboose scooted back from the dog and smiled. “Look what I have been teaching Freckles.”

Donut scooted back against the couch to give Caboose more space. “I’m watching.”

Caboose nodded and held up a treat. “Freckles sit!”

Freckles rolled onto his stomach and sat up instantly. 

“Good boy.” Caboose praised, tossing the dog a treat.

“That’s really good, Caboose.” 

Caboose nodded. “Freckles, shake!” 

Freckles wagged his tail happily and jumped onto Caboose licking him and giving him a face of dog hair. 

Caboose frowned but gave Freckles the treat anyway. “We are still working on that one.” He then informed Donut. 

Donut nodded. Caboose was really good with Freckles. It made sense. Caboose had originally found Freckles. When they were younger, Freckles would hang around the fence of their home, and Caboose would take Donut outside and show him the dog that came up and barked. 

Every time Freckles was around, they would bring leftovers from their dinner and toss them over the fence for Freckles. 

When they left the home, they found out that Freckles was a stray. Donut took him in by request of Caboose because Caboose had told him he needed him more than he did. He had insisted that he got to live with his best friend and Donut had to live alone in a big empty house, so he could keep Freckles.

So Donut took Freckles in and Caboose came by every other day to play with the dog. 

Donut finished recalling the previous, wanted memories as he watched Caboose play with Freckles for a little while longer until he heard a ping come from his phone. He picked it up off the coffee table and unlocked it with ease. 

It was his calendar app telling him he had ten minutes until the girl he was going to interview for an internship would arrive. 

Normally he wouldn’t hold interviews at his house, it was seen as unprofessional. But he had been contacting the girl through social media for a while and she seemed ok with it. She trusted him enough to not think he was going to kidnap her, probably because the college she went to recommended Donut’s cafe for the internship in the first place.

He was contacting her through the cafe’s Instagram account, so she hadn’t seen his face yet. He hoped she wouldn’t get freaked out about the scar. He hated it when people got upset over it. It was even worse when they just stared at it from a distance and tried to pretend they weren’t looking. 

Donut placed his phone back on the table and looked over to Caboose. “Hey Caboose? I have my interview here today. Would you mind taking Freckles upstairs to play for a while?” He asked him. 

Caboose looked up at Donut and nodded vigorously. “No problem Candy Crush.” He said before getting up and heading upstairs, calling Freckles and having him tag along with him. 

When they left, Donut stood up and sat back onto the couch. He grabbed his phone and used the camera to fix his hair. 

He wasn’t aiming to impress anyone, but he could at least look presentable.

* * *

She walked up the steps to the house. It looked really nice on the outside. Flowers, white picket fence, lawn ornaments. Donut seemed to do pretty well for himself, for  _ just _ owning a small town cafe.

But he seemed super nice and she did need to do this to pass her class. She talked to him online and he had very interesting stories about the cafe. He was incredibly kind and even offered to put in a good word to her teacher as she worked. So, she was excited. These next six months were going to be great, she could just tell.

Katie walked up to the front door and knocked a few times. She waited for a few seconds before the door swung open and a man greeted her with a smile. 

But, not just any man.

The murderer. 

The one who did impossible things and was most likely responsible for the deaths that arose on Adam’s avenue. She knew it had to be him. Palamo saw him talking with the men who were killed. He pointed him out to her and made some joke about drug dealers and then seconds later when she had looked away and then looked back, the blond man was gone, along with the other group of men. 

She froze and Donut frowned. “Is it the scar? I’m sorry, I know it’s a little freaky.”

Katie forced a smile. “Uh, no. Sorry.” 

If the police were going to refuse to solve this, then she would need to do something. After all, she had the killer right in front of her. All she needed was to get some evidence. Which meant she needed to act natural and go undercover. Palamo would be jealous. 

“Are you Donut?” She asked, trying her best to seem relaxed. 

Donut smiled. “Yup,” He moved back from the door. “Please, come in.”

Katie nodded and entered the house, once she could get her feet to move. She stepped in and looked around in slight awe. It was a really nice place. The living room was the first room you entered and she could see the neatly decorated kitchen from the front room.

He definitely didn’t seem like the murdering type. 

But she knew what she saw. He was involved somehow. 

Maybe he was a drug dealer.

It made sense, drug dealers always had a lot of cash. 

Donut shut the door and walked past her. “Follow me, we can do the interview in the living room. I have the couch all set up.” Katie nodded and followed him into the living room. He sat down on the couch as she sat on a chair across from him. 

The longer she was there, the more worried she was that it was a bad idea. She was sitting across from a possible drug dealer. He could take her down to his basement and kill her! Or something else just as horrible. 

“Sorry, we had to do this here. I had to close the shop for today.” He said with a smile.

Katie nodded. “It’s ok.” She said nervously. 

Stop being nervous! He was going to know something was up. She freaked out silently.

“Usually I wouldn’t interview you if I had already spoken to you, but your school says it’s policy.” 

Katie nodded.

“So good to finally meet you.” He said with a smile.

Katie smiled back. He really didn’t seem like the murdering type. But she had watched shows where the murderer had turned out to be the nice guy. It was entirely possible.

“You too.” She forced out.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He told her, and she had suddenly realized that she had been anxiously tapping her fingers. “You practically have the job, I’m just gonna go over what you need to know.”

Katie nodded with a smile and realized if she was going to do this, she needed to get herself under control. “Ok, where did you want to start?” She asked calmly. There that was better.

“Well, there’s nothing too extreme. I’m just going to have you, cashier since you have experience with that. Most customers won’t give you any trouble. If there is ever a problem or something you’re unsure about, just come get me and I’ll help.” 

Katie nodded. The last time she cashiered was for a summer job during high school. “Does cashiering include counting the money and such at the end of the day?” 

Donut shook his head. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll usually stay after and count it, then close shop.”

Katie nodded as Donut continued with his questions. It was mostly things like if she knew what everything was and if she knew how to use a coffee machine and such. She worked at a Starbucks once before so she already had all the experience that he needed. 

Donut smiled as they were finishing up. “Oh! Another thing.” He said, catching her attention. “If I give you the keys, could you open up tomorrow morning? I would usually do it but I have something to do.”

Katie nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Something to do? Something illegal? 

“Yea, sure thing.” She lisped

Donut smiled. “I think that’s it, let me get you the cafe’s extra key.” He said, getting up from the couch. 

Donut left the room and Katie reached into her pocket for her phone. She swiped through her contacts, before stopping on her boyfriend.

**Katie:** Hey, you know that guy we thought was a killer?

**Palamo:** Yea the blond rite

**Katie:** Yes. 

**Palamo:** What bout him

**Katie:** He’s my new boss.

**Palamo:** For that internship thingy

**Katie:** Yes! I got to go, he’ll be back soon. I’ll call you when I’m done. 

**Palamo:** Ur at the interview???

**Palamo:** Get the hell out of there!

**Palamo:** Katie?!

Donut walked back into the room with an extra set of keys as Katie shoved her phone into her back pocket. He handed them to her as she stood up, getting ready to leave. 

“It was great meeting you.” He told her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said with a smile as they began walking back to the front door.

Katie nodded. “Thank you, I’m very excited. I promise I won’t let you down.” She said opening the door. 

Donut smiled cheerfully. “I have no doubt you’ll do great.” He said as she left. 

She nodded and waved bye to him as she exited the door. The door shut behind her and she walked to her car. She opened the door and got in the front seat, driving a few blocks away before pulling the car over. She pulled out her phone and dialed Palamo’s number. 

“Hey, I just got out.”

“Thank god. Why didn’t you leave when you saw him?” He asked. 

“I thought about it but then I thought; If the cops won’t listen to us, then we just need to get evidence that we’re right.”

“Go undercover?” Palamo asked, his excitement clear. 

“Yes, but ONLY me.” 

“Why can’t I help?” She heard Palomo whine through the phone.

Katie smiled. “Because he’s  _ my  _ boss and you’ll only get us caught.”

Palamo thought for a moment, before coming to the same conclusion. “Yea, I can see that. That would definitely be me.” 

Katie laughed. “Yea, I know.” She joked. “I’ll text you when I find out more.” She said, looking out the back window of her car as if someone would be watching. 

* * *

Carolina held up the remote and paused on the video as it ended. She glanced over her shoulder to look at Detective Florida. 

“I called him but haven't heard back yet. It normally wouldn’t be a big deal but, he was on a pretty important case about a drug ring. My guess is that he was investigating the crime and witnessed something he shouldn’t have.” 

“Wrong place, wrong time?” 

Carolina nodded. “Exactly. I’ll have North check out the spot downtown where the gangs are. The only thing I need you to do is track down Georgia.” 

Florida smiled. “I can do that.”

Carolina handed him the remote to the TV. “Good. The footage is all yours to go over.”

Florida accepted the remote as Sarge appeared at the doorway.

“You needed me?” He asked, directed at Carolina.

“Sarge. Yes, I did. I want you to work with Florida in tracking down Georgia, you can take Simmons with you if you want.” Carolina instructed. 

Sarge frowned. “I’ve been working on that case for the kids, but I should be able to take out  _ some  _ time for-”

“No. I want your full attention on this case.”

Sarge frowned. “What about-”

“We’re dropping that case,” Carolina said before he could get the words out. "No more goose chases." 

“I think the kids are onto something, Chief.” Sarge protested.

Carolina folded her arms against her chest. “Have you gathered any evidence supporting their theory? Any at all?”

“We have a picture of the perpetrator,” Sarge reported. 

Carolina sighed. “I’ve seen the photo. His name is Donut and he is  _ not _ a murderer. He works at a cafe downtown. So unless you have any other evidence...?” Carolina asked, drawing out the question, waiting for Sarge to give her a response.

“No.” Sarge grumbled. 

“Then we’re dropping it.”

“What if I work on it every other day?”

“No, you will not work on it at all.”

“Not even for a second?” Sarge pestered grumpily.

Carolina rolled her eyes. “No! I’m putting you on this case with Florida to find Georgia.”

Sarge gasped. “You honestly can’t expect me to work with the enemy!” He growled.

Florida smiled. “Come on, Sarge. That’s not very sporty-like.”

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to be working side by side with a dirty Blue!” Sarge barked out, glaring at Florida. 

Carolina smirked. “You won’t be working with Florida.” She stated. “You’ll be working for him.” She said smugly before leaving the room, leaving Florida and Sarge alone in the conference room.

“If we’re going to be working together, we should get along,” Florida advised once Carolina left the room. 

“I’d rather spend the day with Simmons’s turdy turd-bag friend; Grif.” Sarge grumbled. 

“Don’t be that way,” Florida commented with a smile. 

Sarge walked further into the room and crossed his arms, glaring at Florida.

Florida smiled calmly. “Ready to review the tape?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Sarge muttered. “But I’m not happy about this.”

Florida aimed the remote at the box. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” He told Sarge free spiritedly, before pressing play on the footage.

Sarge paid the bare minimum attention to the screen playing in front of him. He snorted to himself. 

He was going to prove that this blond-haired bimbo was the culprit. He was sure of it.

* * *

Days cycled. Like a washing machine.

It was always the same. 

Load some things in, spin them around, take them out, and repeat. 

That’s how his days went. 

Wake up from a nightmare, sit in the dark for a few hours until Simmons got home, fall asleep, and repeat. 

But sometimes the load was different. 

Still a cycle but with just different, maybe new, clothes.

That’s how you kept a routine from driving you crazy. You add something new to it. So, Grif was slightly thankful for the days' where Kai forced him to come help her out at the bar, or when Church made them all head into the warehouse to talk about shit that wasn’t relevant to him. And occasionally the days when Tucker came over.

Sometimes it was because he actually wanted to sit around with a beer and bitch about life. That’s how their relationship used to be. But now, he mostly came by to practice with Grif. 

Well, more like force Grif to practice while Grif complained. 

He hated it when people gave him shit advice and told him to do better while they just sat there and told him these things. How the hell was any of that supposed to help?

It was the situation with the Director all over again.

Grif shivered at the thought of walking into that cold room with the Director to see- 

God, he thought that portion of his life was over.

“Grif!” Tucker snapped in front of him. “You paying attention?”

Grif rolled his eyes. “I am now.” 

They both sat in his living room, with the lights dimmed. Grif on the couch nearest to the back wall and Tucker seated on the black chair across from him, the only thing separating them was the coffee table in the middle of the living area.

“Good.” Tucker paused, seeming to be expecting something out of him. When he realized Grif was paying no attention and didn’t know what he had asked, he sighed. “Have you...seen him?”

The worst part was that Tucker didn’t do this for Grif, he did it for himself. Church may have been the Director’s “child” but Grif swore Tucker was the one that took after him the most.

“No, I haven’t” And he wasn’t lying. There were just certain people he couldn’t see. His mom, the Director, Texas. Junior wasn’t the only one. 

“It’s because you’re not letting them in.” Tucker informed him impatiently, his whiny bitchy side shining through before he smiled. "Bow chicka bow wow." 

Grif’s grateful he skipped out on the ‘whiney bitch’ trait. 

Grif sighed. “Yea, you keep telling me that, but I find it hard to believe when I can’t even block out the simple ones.” He said, letting his eyes wander behind Tucker to the little girl sitting by the window.

“But you are,” Tucker stressed. “Think of it this way. You block out all the people you’ve ever grieved-”

Grif snorted. “That’s not it,” He corrected. “I don’t  _ grieve _ for my mother. She was a piece of shit that got rid of me and Kai the second she could.”

This time it was Tucker’s turn to roll his eyes. “You do grieve your mother Grif, we all do.” He looked down. “Even if we don’t remember them.” 

All the other kids constantly reminded Grif and Kai how lucky they were because while the rest of the children were given up at birth, Grif spent his early years with his mom. The Director tracked Grif down when he was six and then retrieved his sister a few years later. 

The Director loved rubbing it in Grif’s face about his mother. He probably thought it added fuel to the fire, always going on about letting emotions control your powers but not letting them control you.

Tucker continued. “We’ve all been through some shit. It’s how we overcome that shit. You can’t begin to use your full power unless you let that shit go.”

Grif snorted. “That’s the most inspirational piece of bullshit I’ve ever heard you say.” He joked.

Tucker snickered. “Shut the fuck up.” He cursed with no real venom. 

Grif let out a breathy laugh and it briefly reminded him of the good times. When Tucker would come over with Junior and play Halo with him, while Junior and Simmons colored in the same room. The days when they all went to Donut’s house for a barbeque, the days when life was good. Not the fucked up version they lived in now.

“Try again,” Tucker told him. “You’ve done it once before.” He tried to offer. 

Grif looked down, rubbing the back of his neck nervously at the memory. “You’re remembering that wrong.” 

“Dude how can you even say that? She literally got up and-”

“We said we wouldn’t talk about it.” Grif interrupted quickly, losing his patience. 

Tucker nodded. “Alright, we won’t.” He then sighed. “Just, try man.” He said desperately. 

The truth of the matter was that things had changed drastically. In the past years. They’ve lost people, lost straws of sanity, and because of it, people changed.

There  _ was  _ a point in time when they were happy. A point of time when Tucker was a proud dad, a point of time when all Donut wanted to do was explore the world, a point of time when Simmons didn’t question his sanity on a daily basis.

The changes in their lives were what pushed them in this direction. And looking up at the desperation in Tucker’s eyes, Grif could tell, he missed the better times too. 

Happy times.

Grif sighed, trying to show that he didn’t want to do this even though he wanted desperately to help his friend. 

He closed his eyes.

Flashes of the dark sparked through his mind. He maintained his composure and opened his eyes with more concentration. He didn’t want to look around the room. Didn’t want any of them to know he could see them clearly. 

Instead, he looked forward and tried to ignore the smile the little girl gave him by the window. He scanned his preferable vision for a familiar face. Looking past a man with a bullet wound in the middle of his stomach, a wound that caused his intestines to spill out from his empty shell of a body, he saw nobody that struck him as familiar. 

He turned his attention onto Tucker. “I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Tucker, he’s not here,” Grif whispered-shouted, afraid they would realize he could see beyond what normal people could. 

“Ask them.” 

Grif looked up and swallowed the lump in his throat. He probably should, it wouldn’t be too horrible and it would help him control his powers. 

He made direct eye contact with the girl by the window. She smiled at him and waved, alerting the creature next to her. 

Nope. Not doing this.

Grif quickly looked back at Tucker with a stern expression. “I’m not doing it.” He stated.

“Oh, don’t be a pussy.” Tucker complained. 

“Ok well. You’re not the one who has to do it so, shut up.”

Tucker snorted. “Take your time.” He mused, relaxing against the back of the chair.

Grif frowned. He did a double-take between Tucker and the girl. “Let's…” He let his gaze wander onto the girl for a second longer. “Let’s be done for today.” He said.

Tucker shrugged. “Alright.” 

Grif sighed and slumped against the back frame of the couch. He closed his eyes and worked on pushing out all the uninvited guests. When he opened his eyes, they were all gone except for the girl. 

Tucker raised a brow. “You good?”

Grif nodded. “Yup.”

“Wanna go get a beer and make fun of Simmons to the people on his discord server again?”

* * *

“How’d your meeting with Carolina go?” Simmons asked as he peered into the room Sarge was working in. 

“Terrible,” Sarge grumbled, leaning against the back of his chair. “The Chief prohibited we work on our case and switched me to work with Florida.” 

Simmons frowned but was smiling inside. He was glad he wouldn’t need to improvise constantly. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to take Sarge to Tucker. “I’m sorry that happened, sir.” Simmons consoled. 

Sarge’s facial expression went from a frown to a mischievous grin in a mere second. “It’s quite alright private because we’ll still be working on the case.”

Or maybe not. 

“But, I thought she took you off of it.” Simmons said, trying his best not to seem disappointed in Sarge’s continuous fascination with the case.

“That’s why we're doing it in secret.”

“But that would be lying to her.”

Sarge frowned. A frown that could only be described by that of a child’s. “It’s not lying.” He grumbled. “It’s withholding the truth.” 

Simmons shrugged, his inability to disagree with a superior holding him back from screaming ‘That’s not how that works!’. 

“Fair enough.” He said instead.

Sarge smiled as he stood up from his chair. He sauntered past Simmons and patted him on the back. “I knew I could count on you, private.” He said, leaving the room, most likely for a cup of coffee.

Simmons sighed as he left. 

* * *

The knock on her door got her attention as she looked up. Moving a strand of her red hair out of her face, she averted her attention to Florida, who was smiling at her from her doorway. It wasn’t his usual cheerfulness though, it seemed forced. 

“Chief.” He greeted, walking in further so that he was in front of her desk. 

“Yes, detective?” She asked sternly.

“I’ve looked into Georgia’s whereabouts and... well, would you like to hear the good news first or the bad news?” 

Carolina sighed. “I could use some good news.” She said with a slight shrug as she leaned her elbows on her desk. 

Florida smiled. “Well, I found Georgia.”

Carolina froze. Granted it had only been a few days that he’d been missing, but she was still concerned. He was on a dangerous case dealing with drug cartels and they had been searching for a while without luck. 

“You did? Really? That’s amazing.” She said with a half-smile, trying her best to smother her excitement and keep her posture ethical. 

Sure Georgia had the tendency to be an asshole and was hard to work with, but he was the best detective she had and she would love his help right about now. 

Carolina looked up at Florida, who looked to be sharing her same joy but was looking at her like she was missing something. Carolina sighed. “What’s the bad news?” She asked cautiously.

Carolina watched as Florida’s smile faltered. “I found him, but he's dead.” Florida said solemnly.

“What?” She asked in complete shock. 

Florida bit his lip. “His body is being examined by Dr. Grey at the morgue right now.” He said sadly.

“You didn’t think to tell me Georgia was dead first?” Carolina asked as she stood up from her desk, her emotions a mix of disappointment and sorrow. 

Florida smiled lightly, most likely in his usual attempts to lighten the mood while seeming professional. “I thought you’d like to be happy about something.” He told her. 

“It’s alright,” Carolina said dryly as she began gathering Georgia’s files. “You’re dismissed. I’ll deal with this, but I want to see both you and Sarge at the morgue tomorrow for the autopsy.” She said, disappointment in the death of a detective practically seeping through her words. 

“Okie, well if you ever need anything-” Flowers began cautiously. 

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Just, get me the details on Georgia’s death.” 

Florida nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’ll make sure Sarge is aware of everything, and I’ll have a full report about Georgia’s death by the morning.” Florida reported as he saluted her off. Carolina looked back at him and returned the salute, giving Flowers the signal to leave the room.

Flowers nodded and left her alone in the room. When he was gone, Carolina huffed, placing Georgia’s recent files on her desk, she moved over to shut her office door and close the blinds. She then walked back to her seat and slumped against her chair.

She usually didn’t admit when she was at her breaking point. To her, admitting it meant giving up. Accepting defeat to all the problems weighing her down, and she didn’t want to do that. 

But she didn’t know what else to do.

He told her that if she  _ ever  _ needed help, that he would come down immediately and assist her. And honestly, with Georgia gone, she could use his assist.

She was tired of getting countless emails, letters, and peaceful protests outside her door demanding that she fix the city’s problems. She was working hard to stop the robberies, murders, and assaults that crowded the day to day basis of the citizens, but it was hard.

She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days and people walked around her like she was going to break. She had finished her anger management shit perfectly but it still felt as if people thought she could smash a plate over their head at any given moment.

Carolina pulled out her phone, dialing his number into the device. She held the phone to her ear and impatiently awaited his voice. 

“Hey, Lina, what’s up?” 

“Hey. Um, remember how you told me if I ever needed help running the station you’d come down and help?”

Carolina could hear him on the other end shuffling through some papers. “Yea, I was actually planning on calling you about that.” 

Carolina raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Yea, it kinda sucks here without you, I was thinking about coming down and visiting.” 

Carolina smiled. “Don’t sell your apartment just yet.” She joked. 

She could hear him laugh on the other side. There was a slight pause before he spoke again. “I’m in the middle of something right now but I’ll update you about it soon.”

Carolina cleared her throat as she held the phone. “Right, well I’ll let you go then.”

“Talk to you soon, Carolina.” 

She could practically see his smile through the phone. 

It was good to know that he missed her as much as she missed him. And as much as she claimed she hated him growing up, she couldn’t deny that she was secretly terrified about moving out to a big city without him. 

“Thanks, Wash, you’re a lifesaver.”


	3. Nouveaux Problèmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments so far <3 they mean a lot to me and inspire me to continue writing :D

Carolina never liked autopsy rooms. 

They were cold and the white walls and floors reminded her too much of a hospital. The morgue in her department was the same way. It gave off all the wrong vibes and smelled too much like bleach, and when it didn’t smell like bleach, it reeked of death.

It was apparent at the time that the smell of death was coming from the steel table in front of her. 

Dr. Grey had pulled it out of the freezer and began unraveling the threads that kept the dark blue cover-like tarp over the body. 

Carolina took a deep breath as she watched Grey pull the cover-up from over Georgia’s head, revealing his pale face. 

Simmons made a squealing noise next to her and got a jab in the shoulder by Sarge in response. 

Dr. Grey smiled, (leave it to her to change the mood in the room with nothing but her odd smile.) 

“As you can see, the cause of death was a blade to the throat.” Grey began, tracing the stitches on Georgia’s limp neck with a steel, stick-like instrument. “There are no signs of a struggle besides a small bruise on his neck, most likely from a hold by the killer and there are no prints or hairs found on the body.” She explained, looking down at the carcass.

“No knife was recovered at the murder scene,” Florida informed Carolina as he handed her a file.

Carolina nodded, taking the document from Florida and tucking it firmly at her side.

“I’ll find one.” Detective Connecticut said with a shrug. “I’ve got a good idea on a hideout from the drug cartel.” 

Carolina nodded. “Good, then you can tell me where and I’ll have North and South assist you.” 

Connie looked over at her from across the steel table, her agitation clear. “I don’t need any help. I can do it by myself.” She stated firmly.

CT had the confidence to step over her boundaries with her boss time and time again. Carolina had only tolerated it because she was a good detective, but one day she was going to get fed up with it.

Carolina didn’t look up at CT, only continued looking down at Georgia’s still body. “I’m making this more than just a scouting trip, Connecticut.” 

CT eyed Carolina. “Then I’ll do that, but I don’t need help.”

Carolina looked up at CT. “Georgia died trying to shut them down, you’re taking North and South for backup, end of discussion.” She snapped, eyeing Conneticut back. 

For a minute it was a face-off between the two women before CT let out a breath and averted her gaze onto Florida, backing down from the argument. “Fine.” She mumbled.

Carolina looked over at Grey. “What do you think happened?” She asked.

Dr. Grey smiled, glancing towards Florida. “Well, based on the report from Florida, it sounds like Detective Georgia was investigating and got caught. Medically, I believe the killer put him in a chokehold and took a knife to his throat.” She said, making small hand movements to demonstrate the situation.

Carolina nodded. “Anything else?”

Dr. Grey shook her head. “There’s no DNA of the killer on Georgia. No skin under the fingertips, no strew hairs, nothing. If I were to guess, the killer has everything put together. Hair most likely pulled back or shaved, fingernails cut, and so on.” Grey sang-songed the ending of her sentence as she began tarping the cover over Georgia’s face. 

“So we're dealing with a professional.” Simmons offered. 

Grey chuckled. “Actually the cut was pretty sloppy. Being put together doesn't necessarily mean someone is a professional. The marks on Georgia’s neck are really ragged." She pointed out cheerfully. "I doubt our killer has any idea how to wield a knife.” Grey chuckled, her voice too cheerful for Carolina’s liking.

Simmons nodded, looking away from Grey’s eye contact. “Right.” 

Carolina glanced over, noticing Simmons's uneasiness. He must have been really nervous about the dead.  She also noticed how Sarge kept quiet about his accusations towards Donut. Carolina could still tell, however, that he really wanted to say something about it. She was thankful when instead of going on and on about one of his conspiracy theories, he just mumbled something about the killer being a bastard. 

Carolina nodded to Grey. “Thank you, has anyone informed his family yet?” 

To be honest, Carolina never met anyone from Georgia’s family. She wasn’t big on office parties or hangouts with coworkers so she didn’t know any of them too well. 

CT looked away from Georgia's body. “Nobody left to tell.” She said solemnly. 

“I thought he had a wife,” Simmons commented quietly. 

“She left him last week.” Florida informed Simmons.

Simmons nodded, letting out a quiet “Oh.” 

Causing Carolina to almost regretted asking him to come, he seemed uncomfortable. She shook off the thought, deeming it mandatory as she averted her attention back to the autopsy table and watched as Grey began wheeling Georgia back into the freezer.

“That’s it for now then,” Carolina said, pausing, unsure if there was something else she should say. Something about how hard he worked, or that he was a good person, but she couldn’t. She didn’t know how. She never really was much of a people person, that was clear throughout all her childhood. Maybe it was one of the reasons it took her so long to get put into a foster family. “You’re all dismissed.” She said instead. 

“That’s it?” Florida questioned. 

Carolina sighed. “That’s it.” She reiterated. 

“What about Georgia’s title?” CT asked. Because of course, she did.

Florida eyed Connie with a look of ‘too soon’. 

Carolina shouldn’t have even considered answering her question. In fact, she should have been offended that Connie would even ask such a thing, but she wasn’t. “I will decide the next head Detective over the course of a week.” She said, turning to leave the room. 

The truth of the matter was, that, Carolina didn’t know what to do at this point. She was struggling to mourn over Georgia. He wasn’t a good guy. He was a dick that did things without permission and cheated on his wife, but he was still an officer, the best one in fact. 

On second thought, maybe she was mourning over him because she kept feeling this emotion that she couldn’t really describe. 

Or maybe that feeling; the one she couldn’t seem to snuff out, was guilt.

* * *

Church knocked on the steel door, Caboose happily sipping on a juice box behind him. 

“Maybe they are not home.” Caboose offered. 

Church rolled his eyes. “Get ready buddy, you may have to rip this door off again.” He commented, eyeing the poorly repaired hinges on the steel door. 

Caboose frowned. “Last time I did that, I got a boo-boo.” He pouted, showing Church his knuckles. 

Before Church could reply about Caboose being a baby, the door swung open and Rex appeared in the doorway. “Sorry, we were just setting up.” He apologized nervously.

Church motioned Caboose in first and followed after, pushing Rex out of the way. “You’d think you’d learn to keep this door unlocked when I say I'm coming.” He snipped harshly, looking around the room. 

Rex shrugged. “We do that and the homeless druggies wander in.” 

Church nodded. “Fair enough.” He decided. 

Rex stood sheepishly for a moment until Church raised a brow at him. “You got my shit?” He asked, expectantly. 

Rex nodded, eyes darting on his personal as he scrambled to pull a pair of keys out of his pocket. “Yea, uh.” He looked over to the other side of the room. “Follow me.” 

Caboose smiled and followed after Rex, Church at his side. Rex led them to a door and opened it with a silver key. He then pushed the door open and walked in. Shuffling through some boxes, he pulled out a duffle bag. “Here, 50K.” He said, placing the bag on a steel table. 

Church walked to the table and opened the bag, shuffling through he decided it was the right amount. If he found it wasn't, he'd just come back anyway. “No funny business?” He asked, counting the amount in a single roll. 

“No funny business.” Rex stated.

Caboose took a loud slurp from his juice box and smiled at Rex, paying no attention to his bandaged arm. Rex just waved at him fearfully before quickly averting his gaze.

Church zipped up the bag. “Alright then, I’ll be back in a few weeks,” He said, snapping towards Caboose to get his attention as he headed towards the door. Caboose happily walked out the door as Church hung in the doorway with the bag. He looked back at Rex, “And Rex?”

“Yea?”

“No more funny business.” Church stated. 

Rex swallowed the lump in his throat. “Got it.” 

They left the building with a duffle bag of 50K and one less juice box. 

Caboose skipped after Church. “Are we walking home?” Caboose asked, his bright blue sneakers hitting the pavement under him as he moseyed around. 

Church glanced back at Caboose and then around the street. 

He didn’t know how to drive a car. Never got the opportunity to learn and when he did; he decided it was too much work. Simmons was the only one out of all of them that decided to learn after leaving that godforsaken house and Grif didn’t count because he drove like a maniac. “I guess we can take the bus,” Church muttered, spotting a bus stop across the street. 

Church took Caboose’s hand as they began crossing the road. It wasn't like he was gay or anything or god forbid cared about Caboose he just- didn’t want the big goon getting run over and leaving Church to pay for his medical bills. 

Church looked both ways as they crossed the busy street and froze, stopping in the middle of the road as he saw something in the distance.

Caboose looked over at him as Church stopped them in the middle of the street. “Church?” He questioned. 

Church squinted his eyes, looking off into the distance at the dark shadow across the street. 

Is that? 

Caboose looked around worriedly at the cars heading increasingly closer towards their direction. “Best friend?”

Church's eyes widened as he recognized what he was seeing.

A wolf?

In the distance, he swore there was a dark fur colored wolf. It wasn’t moving but he could tell right away who it was. The way it presented itself, the way it stood comfortably, the way it cocked its head to get a better look at him. 

“Texas.” He mumbled in awe. 

Caboose looked at him like he was crazy or maybe it was concern. It didn't really matter at that point, Church was too mesmerized by the creature across the street to notice.

God, she was beautiful.

The wolf looked at him and began sauntering away into a back alleyway. 

But, she was supposed to be dead. 

Church slowly dropped Caboose's hand as he made a move to mindlessly walk towards the wolf. He couldn’t let her get away, not again. Not if he could help it. 

It was the sound of a truck honking that snapped him out of his gaze. 

“Church!” Caboose yelled, dragging Church off to the corner of the sidewalk, practically tackling him to the ground and pulling him and the duffel bag into a hug as a white truck sped by where they were previously standing. 

Church sputtered, his skin skidding across the pavement, leaving painful marks as he looked over at Caboose; the past minute a complete haze to him. “What!?” He screeched, trying to get a glance at the alleyway where he previously saw the animal.

Caboose held him tight as Church attempted to wiggle free. “You were not moving and also not answering and then a scary vehicle was coming.” He whined, tripping over his words. 

Church glanced across the street and when he realized she was gone, looked back at Caboose, and pushed his arms off of him. “I’m fine,” He growled. “Don’t be a baby.” He then hissed, getting up and dusting off his pants. 

Caboose pouted but stood up anyway. “Ok.” He whimpered quietly. 

Church looked over at the bus stop and saw the large white and blue vehicle pull up to the sidewalk. “Hurry up, our ride is here.” He informed, walking towards the bus as he got out his wallet to pay the fee. 

Caboose quickly tagged along with him. 

On the bus, Church kept looking back at the street where he saw her. 

She shouldn’t have been there. Why did he see her? He thought this was over.

God, he needed a drink.

* * *

Blood Gulch was by far the most disgusting bar he had ever been in. 

The exterior was decent, it advertised well with flashing lights (Even though they weren’t supposed to draw attention to themselves) and the bar itself drew a pretty tame crowd. The people that came were pretty chill, not starting fights or drama. Just kind of watching the girls in the back or laughing with their friends over a drink. 

But the inside was nastier than when he left it. The tables had gum littered everywhere underneath them and the bathrooms had piss stains and bits of food from bile scattered on the edge of the toilet seats. 

Well, it wasn’t that bad. The counters only collected mild dust and the stripper poles in the back hadn’t gotten anybody sick yet, but still, it was doing better under his management. 

“Jesus christ Kai! This glass still has cigarette ash in it.” Grif exclaimed, looking into the contents of his cup. His water looked clear besides the floating pile of unwanted crud at the top. 

His sister rolled her eyes and took his glass from him. “You’re so picky.” She complained, rinsing out the glass.

“It’s not picky to want edible water.” He pointed out snarkily. “When I ran this bar, the smokers were contained in the back of the building, now there’s smoke everywhere. You’re going to burn the place down.”

Kaikaina snickered, handing him a clean glass of water. “Now you’re starting to act like Simmons.” She teased.

“I am not.” Grif snapped. “I just want my bar in better shape.” He said quietly as if his words would impact her decision about him sounding like Simmons. 

“Yea, yea.” She muttered, serving a customer next to him. She turned back to him a second later and leaned her elbows on the bar, squinting her eyes suspiciously at him. 

“What are you looking at?” He sneered, taking a sip from his drink. 

“Are you ok?” She asked. 

Grif was trying to figure out if she had an ulterior motive to this question or not when he answered. “I’m fine.”

“Have you seen mom?” She asked.

There it was. 

Grif sighed. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

Kaikaina raised a brow, her glittery eye shadow glistening in the light. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” Grif paused. “Why would you even ask that?” 

Sister shrugged. “Thought maybe that’s why you were acting so funny.” 

Grif shook his head. “Nope, still haven’t seen her. Not since...last time.” He trailed off. 

His and Kai's mom had died a long time ago. He wasn't with her when it happened, but he knew it did because he saw her spirit the day she died. She was screaming and in obvious pain and Grif couldn't find out why. He didn't want to. He _hated_ her. That day ended up sucking ass and he hid in his closet for the most of it, vowing to never let her ghost break into his view of the afterlife ever again. 

Kaikaina stood up straight and flipped her hair over her shoulder, reaching for another glass. “Whatever.” 

Grif sighed. “What’s wrong with you now?”

Kai did her best to hide her pout. “Nothing, stop overthinking shit.” She replied.

Grif took another sip of his drink. “Fine.” If Kaikaina wanted to say something, she would. His sister was just like that.

Sister took a deep breath. “It’s just that-” 

There it was. 

“I bet if I was the one with the magic, I would be able to see her.” She stated. 

Grif rolled his eyes. “Jesus, are you still going on about this?” He groaned. 

Kai nodded, her light brown curls bouncing slightly over her shoulder. “Yes.” She pouted. “It’s not fair.” 

“It’s not all fun and games, Kai.” Grif stated. 

He had had this talk with her multiple times before and she never seemed to fully grasp the concept that this was hard. Everybody thought it would be so cool to have magical abilities, but once you had them, you realized; they suck. You can’t tell anybody about them, because then people would be hunting you down or trying to use you for their own benefit. Which meant you could only stick to a certain friend circle of people that also had abilities or you could choose to be lonely. To make matters worse; you didn't even get to enjoy the powers when you occasionally did get to use them because then the handicap came into play and made your life a living hell. 

If it was up to him, he would be normal. “Cool powers” Were not worth all the bullshit that his life had accumulated to. 

“Yea, you keep saying that but, imagine all the fun things I could do if I had powers.” She exclaimed.

Grif glared at Kai as a passerby gave them weird looks. “You seem to be forgetting the handicap. That makes things not fun.” He said, using Kai’s vocabulary to get his point across.

Sister pouted. “Oh right.” She thought for a minute before coming to a different conclusion. “Yea, except Tucker doesn’t have a handicap. So neither would I.”

Grif raised a brow. “That’s not how that works. Tucker was born like that. In order to get rid of your handicap, you need to overcome something big in your life or something dumb like that.” Grif said flatly, taking another sip of his water. 

“Who made that rule?”

“Nobody,” Grif said with a shrug. “The Director said it.” 

Kai frowned, crossing her arms over her yellow halter top. “The Director is a lying bitch.” She complained. "Because that doesn't even make sense." 

Grif nodded. “He is, but he must have been telling the truth about that thing. Texas proved that.” 

Kaikaina smiled and waved seductively at a man who had seated themselves at the bar. “I don’t remember her.” She told Grif, still making eye contact with the man. 

“You were too young.” Grif stated. 

Kaikaina nodded, not listening to Grif anymore as she leaned forward on the bar table and twirled a brown silky curl around her finger. The guy she winked at smiled and gave her some lame line about her boobs and his sister smirked in response, enjoying the attention. 

What a douchebag. He was obviously way older than Kai and was taking advantage of his young, inexperienced sister. He hated when guys approached her like that. She was obviously a pretty girl (always had been) but she never cared about guys when they lived in the Director’s house. He gave the place a lot of shit, but at least it kept Kai safe and away from the grubby hands of perverts. 

Grif rolled his eyes. “Welp, I’ll leave you to it.” He grumbled, getting up from his seat. He left his glass on the table and walked by the guy ogling his sister, ramming his shoulder hard into the guy's chest as he walked by. 

The sleazebag yelped and spilled his drink on himself in the process. Gawking at his shirt, he grumbled. “What the hell man?” The guy got up, giving Kai the side-eye as he wandered away from the bar. 

“Grif you asshole!” Kaikaina shrieked after him. “I liked him! He was nice to me.” He heard her grumble. 

“Sorry,” Grif called sarcastically behind him, chuckling as Kai shouted vile slurs at him.

The guy wouldn’t have called her back anyway.

He did her a favor.

* * *

Sarge kicked a stray rock with his shoe, letting out a frustrated grunt as it hit the concrete wall next to him. 

Simmons sighed. “Maybe we should call it a night.” He suggested, looking back behind the steel fence at the setting sun. 

They had been out there far too long.

At first, Simmons was afraid that Sarge would actually find something. It was keeping him from thinking straight as he tried to keep his anxious tapping go unnoticed by his boss, but it had been an hour with no luck and instead of anxiety, all Simmons was feeling was, bored. 

Sarge huffed, looking over at Simmons. “It makes no sense, Private,”

Simmons almost corrected him, saying he was an assistant detective and not in the military, but he let it go knowing he wasn’t going to change Sarge’s mind. 

“How could they have been here one second and then gone the next?” Sarge exasperated. “Damn witchcraft.” He mumbled, looking around the alleyway.

Something like that, Simmons thought.

“I don’t know, Sir,” Simmons walked over to him. “But, even if there were any clues, the police already picked this place apart about a thousand times and so have we. We wouldn’t find anything if we tried.”

The police didn’t find anything either. Simmons was with Church, Donut, and Caboose when they did this job. They were careful about leaving evidence and if it wasn’t for the witnesses from Georgia and the...rushed work with the bodies, they would have gotten off scot-free. 

What the fuck was he even talking about? There was no getting off scot-free. 

He would never tell Church or Tucker this, or hell, even Grif but, the truth of the matter was that; Simmons hated living like this. He wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t want to do bad things. He wanted to live his life in his apartment with Grif, working as a detective, but that wasn’t really in the cards for him. 

He couldn’t leave this situation if he wanted to. 

He got wrapped up in it the day the Director took him into that house. 

And even if he could get out of it, he wouldn’t want to. Because without Grif coming with him (Which he wouldn’t because this was Grif and he enjoyed not having to work and getting easy money for things he did naturally) there would be no point at all. 

He didn’t want to leave Grif. 

And Grif didn’t want to leave.

So, things would just stay the way they were, forever. 

Kill, lie, cheat, get paid, repeat. 

He was going to lose his mind.

Again. 

“By God,” Sarge mumbled, snapping Simmons out of his thoughts. 

When Simmons looked up, Sarge was kneeled down by the steel fence and was looking back at Simmons. “Private!” He snapped. “Get yer ass over here.” He commanded, ushering him over. 

Simmons quickly ran over and kneeled by Sarge who turned facing the fence again. He raised a brow. “What are we looking at, Sir?”

Sarge pointed to a hole in the fence. It was about the size of a watermelon and had dirt on its sharp edges where it probably broke off from an animal.

“What about it?” Simmons asked. 

Sarge smiled. “The killer could have escaped through this hole, we need to follow the tracks.” He muttered in awe as if he had made some sort of breakthrough. 

Simmons froze. First of all, they didn’t leave through there. Donut waited for a crowd of people to walk in front of the street and then ran them out of the alley and secondly, no normal sized human could fit through that hole. 

“Um, Sir? I don’t think they escaped through there.” 

“Nonsense Simmons!” Sarge barked looking around the fence. He planted his hand on the wiring and his foot in one of the holes and began pulling himself up. 

Simmons watched as Sarge climbed up the fence and hopped over it, landing on the other side. 

“Come on Simmons! We’re wasting time!” Sarge ordered as he began looking around the dirt on the other side of the fence. 

Simmons sighed. Was he really about to do this? Jump a dirty fence into a dead-end alleyway?

Simmons planted his feet on the fence and his hands on the wiring and copied Sarge’s movements, landing on the other side with a little less grace. 

Sarge looked around the ground determinedly as Simmons watched. He was somewhat relieved that Sarge was on the wrong path to finding out what happened, but at the same time, he was concerned with the amount of shit his boss would do to find something out. 

He knew when he was told to work with Sarge that he had the reputation of making something out of nothing and having crazy conspiracy theories. He just never thought he would go so far as to be convinced that a bunch of 20-year-old males could fit through a small section of fence. I mean, had he seen Caboose? 

Sarge knelt on the ground and put his face real close to the dirt. At first, Simmons thought he was looking for tracks, but then he stuck his tongue out and licked the ground. Smacking his lips a few times, he sat up and smiled. “Alright Simmons, I know what happened here.” He said, standing up. 

Simmons nodded grimacing as he brushed off the grotesque action. “That’s great, sir.” 

He was extremely confident that Sarge did not know what happened. 

As he said, their means of escape was not by fence and there was no way Sarge could know anything by looking around and licking dirt. 

Sarge nodded. “That I do, Simmons.” He put his hands on his hips and gestured towards the fence. “Our killers went through that fence over there and made their getaway through this here intersection.”

Wrong, wrong, and wrong. But, Simmons nodded along anyway. 

“Based on the wind trajectory at the time of day and the splotches of grass I would say there were about 4 of them, all males. Two medium height guy, a shorter one, and a really tall one. One of them is probably really squeamish and had no idea what they were doing, reminds me a lot of you, Simmons.” 

Simmons gawked. 4 males? A really tall one? Squeamish? How the hell did he guess all that by looking at a few grass splotches? 

“This Donut guy has a crew, we need to be careful.” Sarge theorized, smacking his fist into his palm. “Just wait till I present this information to the Chief.”

It’s wasn’t enough for a search warrant against Donut, but that still wasn’t going to stop Sarge from barging into Donut’s cafe and terrorizing him. And if he actually did find some evidence; Carolina would still send someone to check it out and Simmons couldn’t risk that. 

Sarge pulled out his cell phone and Simmons freaked. 

What the fuck was he going to do?

Simmons didn't mean to. 

Reall, he didn't. But out of force of habit, he closed his eyes and opened them, the next few minutes of the future playing by in his vision.

“Chief? Yes, I have some important evidence on the case. I need you to send a car over right away.” 

Simmons twiddled his thumbs as Sarge continued the call. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He was done for, he was going straight to jail. 

Sarge put down the phone and smiled at Simmons. “Hang tight private, we’ll have this case solved in no time.” 

Simmons’s eyes widened as he snapped out of his vision. “Wait!”

Sarge paused, stopping his dialing on the phone to look at Simmons. “Yes, Private?”

Shit, he had to think of something. 

What was the point of this stupid power if it didn’t give him enough time to change the outcome?

“What if instead of calling Chief, we find this Donut ourselves? Won’t that be more impressive?”

Sarge thought for a moment, then smiled and slid his phone back in his pocket. 

Simmons let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t known he’d been holding. 

“Ok, Simmons,” Sarge said, walking up to him. “Here’s the plan; we’ll do your idea and go get this Donut. We’ll head to his base, of course, he’ll be doing illegal things there, we’ll catch him, handcuff him, and then enter the department in slow motion and with a detained criminal in our grasps!” Sarge announced. 

Simmons raised a brow. “How do you make something slow motion?” He asked. 

Sarge grinned. “Life finds a way.” He looked past Simmons and pulled out his car keys. “To the Cafe!” He ordered. 

"Actually, Sir," Simmons interjected quickly. "We should get a good night's sleep first. No one is really going to be at the station anyway. We should go in the morning when there are more people to impress." 

He came up with that pretty quickly. And now he had more time to construct a plan. 

Sarge nodded, satisfied with that conclusion as he raised his fist. "Then back to the car!"

Simmons nodded, walking past him and taking the keys from his hands. “Great, I’ll drive tomorrow." He added. "I know where it is.”

Sarge smiled, gripping the steel wiring of the fence and hoisting himself over. “Good thinking Simmons, that way I have time to practice my one-liners.” 

Simmons copied Sarge’s movement and made his way over the fence. 

Sarge was already halfway down the alleyway on his way to the car. “We're coming for you Pinky Pants!” he growled, turning the corner to the alleyway. 

Simmons followed after. 

Everythings ok. 

Everythings ok. 

He just needed to get Sarge to Tucker. 

* * *

“Goodnight Caboose,” Church said, more sternly this time, rubbing at his eyes as he pulled himself up off the bed. 

Caboose frowned from under the bedsheets. “Aren’t you going to read me a story?” He pouted. 

Church rolled his eyes. “I already tucked you in, what more do you want from me?” 

“A story.” Caboose reiterated. 

Church pulled a blank face and turned around to turn off the lights. 

“That is ok.” He heard Caboose say. “Some other night.” 

Church rolled his eyes and left the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Leave the door open a crack, best friend!” He heard Caboose panic. 

Church sighed but opened the door a crack anyway. “Go to bed, Caboose!” He yelled back. He faintly heard Caboose shout something, but was halfway up the stairs of the warehouse and couldn’t make out the words. 

He gritted his teeth as he opened the door to his room. 

“What are you doing in here?” He asked. 

Tucker looked up at him from Church’s bed. He was sprawled out on his back and was flinging paper to the top of the roof. 

Church could tell he’d been there for a while because there were several makeshift paper spikes stuck on the ceiling of his room. 

“Down to fuck?” Tucker asked, winking at him. 

Church rolled his eyes and walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. “No I’m not, why are you really in here?” He asked, staring him down with his hands on his hips. 

Tucker smiled as he flung the neon green paper at the ceiling and watched as it stuck. “Nice, that beats your high score.” He praised himself cockily, ignoring Church's previous question. 

Back when they lived in the Director’s house; Tucker would come into his room and they would bitch about meaningless shit as they flung pieces of paper up at the roof. Church was always better at the game, but he stopped playing a long time ago. 

“Bullshit.” Church degraded as he counted the amount of paper on the ceiling. “You’re like twelve pieces short.” He corrected. 

Tucker laughed. “You actually remembered your score?” He teased. “I was just joking about that, nerd.” 

“Hey, you’re the one playing the stupid game in the first place.” Church bit back. 

“Damn, feisty. You always gotta be such a dick?” Tucker asked, sitting upon his bed.

Church stared at the idiot on his mattress. “Tucker,” He started, his tone going from his usual moodiness to downright snarkiness. “Get the fuck out of my room.” 

“Damn man, who shit in your coffee?” 

Church sighed and walked over to the side of the bed, collapsing at the bottom of it. Tucker instinctively pulled his feet up to give him room and scooted to the backboard of the bed, sitting criss-cross. “Tough day?” He asked.

Church rubbed at his eyes. “Not really, just you know, even in the grave, the Director is still finding ways to fuck things up.” He said, looking up at the pieces of paper on the ceiling just to have something to look at.

Tucker nodded. “Hey, at least you got Caboose.” 

Church deadpanned and looked over to Tucker.

“What?”

“Did you bombard my personal space to have a conversation about Junior?” He asked, ticked off. 

Tucker frowned. “No, I didn’t. I was just...bored and lonely.” 

It was silent for a minute as Church looked back up at the ceiling, slightly regretting bringing up the topic of Junior. 

He heard Tucker shuffle around on the opposite side of the bed before he spoke. “You were tucking in Caboose,” He said, solemnly. “Just made me think of him.”

Church nodded slightly. “If you want, we can get his stuff out of that room.” He said quietly.

Tucker shook his head. “No, Caboose plays with that stuff.” He sighed. “Besides, it’s not Caboose’s fault this shit’s hereditary.” He said, gesturing to his head. More accurately, his powers. 

Church rested his arms behind his head. “The Director didn’t know that.” He said. “Kai doesn’t have magic. So, it’s not confirmed hereditary. And even if it was, it’s not your fault that your son had magic.” 

Magic worked in a funny way. The Director’s theory was that their powers were passed on; once you died, the essence drifted elsewhere into a different newborn. When Church asked why he thought that, the Director explained how an old buddy of his had the ability to heal, so when he saw the same trait in Junior right after his death, he tied two and two together.

Tucker smiled at the memory of his son’s abilities. They were literally the light of his life. When he used his magic, yellow vibrant light shone from his hands. Church thought it was freaky and obvious that there was something wrong with the kid, but Tucker thought it was incredible. “I miss him.” He finally said, so quiet Church almost didn’t hear him.

Church silently agreed. That house was hell for Tucker, but then Junior came along, and even though it was still hell (because he was a newborn and the young girl he had knocked up wanted nothing to do with the thing) they all eventually grew to love him and it was better for a while. 

But, Junior didn’t belong in the modern world. 

He was too caring for that. 

Who knew that’d be his downfall. 

“Your plan isn’t going to work,” Church told him as he told him every single time the subject of Junior was brought up. 

Tucker frowned and brought the blanket on the bed and up over his shoulder, resting against Church’s pillow. “Oh, it’ll work.” He mumbled against the fabric, sure of himself. 

Church rolled his eyes. It was definitely not going to work. Junior was gone and nothing was going to change that. 

...

“Are you going to get out of my bed?” Church asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Tucker?” 

Church sighed at his sleeping friend and realizing he was out cold, groaned. “You fucker.” He huffed. 


	4. Avant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an entire chapter dedicated to the R and B's flashbacks of when they lived in the house with the Director :D
> 
> So enjoy! <3
> 
> P.s this is one of those chapters that I wrote a long time ago so ignore any and all grammar mistakes. As far as you're concerned, they don't exist ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe leave a comment,? I really enjoy reading them <3
> 
> Also yes, all the chapter titles have been in French and I will keep doing them that way :)

_ -Those who are heartless, once cared too much- _

_ 16 years ago _

The children didn’t see each other that often. It was against the rules. You weren’t supposed to form friendships or relationships. It was strictly prohibited and punishable by any means necessary. 

So the children just sat in their rooms all day and played alone, or they trained with The Director when summoned. 

It was lonely. But, it was ok for a while in the beginning. Mainly because he was way too young to care. But at age 8, it became a problem. Because he was terribly bored all the time. So while it was strictly forbidden, Tucker had dismissed that and begun associating with the other children. 

One of those children was a girl with bright blond hair named Texas. 

Texas was a sweet girl. She was tough and could easily take care of herself. But she was also funny and made good company, once you got to know her that was. The first time he talked to her, she kicked him in the leg. But after a while, they formed what Texas called, a truce...for now.

It wasn’t hard to find time to play with her. All the children had a room in the upstairs hall. There were two sides. The left side was coated with Red wallpaper and had four rooms, of which only 3 were used. And the right side of the hall was coated with Blue wallpaper and every room was occupied. 

Contrary to popular belief. The Director was not the 7 children’s father. Neither was the Counselor. The Director barely checked up on the kids. The only time they saw the Director was when they were training. The Counselor wasn’t much better. The only time they saw him was occasionally during training and when it was time to eat or be put to bed. That was it. 

The rest of their day was spent in their rooms or wandering the empty halls. No one really knew the children existed. They were rarely allowed outside. Sometimes then people would see them playing through the cracks of the fence, or hear them playing alone in the backyard while they went on walks through the valley where the house was located.

So they were barely supervised. Which made sneaking around quite easy. That didn’t mean the children constantly did it. 

Once a few years ago, the Counselor caught Church and Texas playing together in the attic and the Counselor told them having relationships could result in harsh punishments. After that, rumors spread at the dinner table. 

Eventually, it became a myth that if you had relations with another child, the Director would kill you. Grif had gone as far to say that was why there was an empty room in their hall, even if that room would eventually get used.

Tucker didn’t care about that. He thought they were full of crap. So, he continued playing with Texas.

He didn't really play with her at night, however. As much as other kids may have hated it, he loved to sleep. He'd say people would think he was odd for that, but the other kids didn't talk to him all that much so he wouldn't have any way of knowing. 

It wasn’t until one night when Tucker really couldn’t sleep, did he sneak down to Texas’s room. 

Tucker didn’t dare knock on her door. He didn’t want to risk being heard. He didn’t think any of the kids would tattle. But he wasn’t taking any chances. He opened her door and poked his head in. He would eventually learn that knocking was a priority, especially since Tex was a girl, but his 8-year-old self didn’t think about that and walked right in. 

“Tex…?” Tucker called, walking further into the room. 

Texas was at her desk, scribbling words into a journal. She winced at the sound of his voice and spun around in her chair to look at him. She held a finger up to her mouth, to make a motion to shush him.

Tucker raised a brow. “What? Why? We won’t get caught. Everybody is probably already asleep…” He trailed off as Texas quickly covered her ears and winced in pain. She curled up in her chair and whimpered. 

Tucker froze. “Uh, what did I do? I’m sorry, please don’t cry.” 

She all but glared up at him, with vicious eyes. She took a deep breath. “It’s my handicap.” She hissed. “Now shut up.”

“Your handicap?” Tucker asked quietly. 

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, dummy.”

What was a handicap? Tucker had never been informed about a handicap. Did she have a disability he hadn’t known about? Granted he had only spent a little while with her and would have no way of knowing.

“What is a handicap?” He asked, making sure to keep his voice low. 

Texas groaned. “It’s what happens when I use my powers.” She informed. “Makes my ears ring.”

Tucker nodded. How has he never seen this before? Why hadn’t anyone told him? “Do I have one?” He asked. 

She looked up at him with a look that, if he doesn’t leave right now, she’s going to bite his head off. 

“Ok well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.” He said, quickly leaving the room. He should have gone back to his room. But he didn’t. He wanted to know what a handicap was and why he didn’t have one. Did all of the children have them?

Tucker passed by his room and made his way to the Director’s office. The only time anyone went in there was when they wanted something. And not in the way where you want a cup of water. In the way when you wanted an item. Usually toys or books, but Tucker had always asked for music. Surprisingly enough that was the only reason anyone should go to the Director’s office unless they had a question.

Tucker knocked quietly on the office door. There were certain rules that all the children had to follow. Some silly and irrational, others strict. But there was one thing the Director had always told them. “Any question you need to ask, you can go ahead and ask. Under any circumstances.” And Tucker really needed to have an answer. 

Although, what the Director told him didn't exactly mean you'd receive an answer. Just that it was ok to ask questions.

“Come in.” Tucker heard the Director call from the other side of the door. 

Tucker turned the handle and walked in. The Director sat at his desk, with his glasses perched over his eyes. He looked down at Tucker as he made his way to stand in front of the desk. 

“How can I help you, Lavernius?” The Director asked. His voice sounding strict and uncaring. 

“I was just wondering, how comes I don’t have a handicap?” The child asked. 

If the Director cared at all, he didn’t show it. “Handicaps are automatically put into place when you use your power. They’re designed to weaken the host, so no one is too powerful. All the other children have one. You are different, you don’t have a handicap anymore.” The Director explained. 

Tucker nodded. “Is that a bad thing?” 

"Depends." The Director looked down at something on his desk, paying very little mind to Tucker. “For you, it is not. Is that all you wanted?” 

Tucker nodded. 

The Director then pressed a button on his desk and spoke into a small intercom. “Counselor, can you come into my office?”

Tucker stood in front of the desk, uneasily waiting. The Counselor came into the room a second later and stood at the attention of the Director, occasionally eyeing Tucker. 

“Can you escort Lavernius back to his room for the night?” The Director asked. 

The Counselor nodded and held onto Tucker's hand, leading him out of the room. The Counselor took Tucker up to his room and Tucker noticed how Church’s door was open now when it previously wasn’t. 

The Counselor didn’t say anything to Tucker and left him at his door, before leaving downstairs as Church appeared at his doorway, eyeing Tucker. 

“What makes you so special?”

Tucker smiled. “Don’t worry man, I won’t take your spot as the Director’s prized pupil.” He teased. 

Church smirked, obviously amused. “Don’t be jealous.” 

* * *

“See in your mind what you want to happen, and do it.”

Church stared at the open box of matches in front of him. He knew what he wanted to do, he just couldn’t do it. Not on command anyway. He could do it when he was yelling at Texas or when Caboose spilled orange juice on him at the dinner table, but not on command. 

“Concentrate. Use your anger. Let it guide you.”

But he didn’t have anything to be angry about. Sure the Director was needy when it came to his powers and the other kids annoyed him a lot, but it wasn’t so bad that he was angry. Just made him mildly annoyed. 

Church looked up from the box of matches. “I can’t do it.” He said, defeated.

The Director frowned. “Yes, you can. I have high hopes for you Leonard. I know the full extent of your powers and-”

Church didn’t hear the rest of what the Director said. He had turned his attention onto Tex who had been watching them train in a seat behind and to the right of the Director

All the children were allowed to watch training sessions as long as they stayed quiet. The Director said he trained each child differently but it could prove to be useful to let the other kids watch.

Texas smiled at him. 

Church smiled back. 

The Director continued talking and Church quickly averted his gaze back on the Director. 

Texas frowned and raised her brows, sticking her tongue out at the other child. 

Church ignored her as the Director continued talking. Texas frowned and crossed her eyes. Church stifled a laugh and kicked her from under the table.

“Is something funny, Leonard?” The Director asked, impatient with the child’s antics. 

Church shook his head, stifling his laughter as his voice grew serious. “No sir.”

The Director nodded. “All right. As I was saying, you need to use your anger and emotions to drive your powers. They act more as guidance that way. In time you will learn to use them on command and-”

The Director continued talking and directed his attention down to the box of matches. Church followed his gaze.

Church briefly looked up and Texas rolled her eyes, making the cuckoo sign at the Director. 

Church then put his pointer finger to his mouth to make a move to shush her as Texas raised a brow and put her hands up in exasperation. 

“Leonard, are you listening to me?” 

Church nodded and looked back down at the matches. 

“Good, now try again.” 

Church steadied his breathing and glared at the box of matches. He thought in his mind what he wanted to do. 

He wanted them to burn, catch fire without him using his hands. He needed to make them burn with his mind. The Director had told him his powers were no use to him if he couldn’t use them long-range. 

Church concentrated. A single match in the box began sparking and was about to light a flame when he saw Texas in the corner of his eye. She was making faces. She made a gun with her fingers, pointing it at the Director, and cocked her finger gun before firing. She then looked around with a shocked face as if the Director’s brains had splattered all over the wall. Church laughed at the visual. 

The Director clenched his fist as Church lost focus and the spark on the match died out. 

“Allison!” He turned around to look at her. “Do you think this is funny!?” 

She shook her head. “No sir.” 

The Director looked back to Church and Texas gave Church a thumbs up from behind his back. 

Church smiled. 

“That’s it.” The Director hissed between gritted teeth. 

The Director turned around and got up from his seat. He grabbed Texas by the arm and dragged her out of the room. Texas squirmed in his grip and tried to free her arm from his grasp. The Director let go of her arm at the door and lectured her for a few minutes. Texas didn’t dare argue back, she knew better than that. 

The Director called the Counselor down, who escorted her back to her room, and when Texas and the Counselor had left, the Director stomped back to the table and sat down, glaring at Church.

“You are my biggest accomplishment.” He started. “I will not allow you to waste your potential. And I will not let you hold yourself back because you wanted to make faces with another child.” Church nodded as he continued speaking. “Relationships with other children are forbidden for this exact reason.”

Church crossed his arms. “You didn’t have to hurt her.” He muttered. 

“What did you say?” The Director snapped. 

“Nothing,” Church murmured. 

The Director nodded. “Good, now do as I tell you.”

Church frowned and didn’t even need to look down at the box. 

Because he was mad. Mad at the Director. For hurting Texas, for the stupid rules that said he wasn’t allowed to be friends with her, and mad that he was stuck in this godforsaken house where he was never allowed to leave or do anything besides sit in his room or train. 

He was mad because the Director expected more out of him, mad because when he did talk with the other kids, they called him things like the Director’s baby and mommy’s boy. He hated that he couldn’t leave, hated that he couldn’t be friends with Texas. And most of all, he hated the Director. 

The box of matches burst into flames.

The Director smiled, pleased. “Good job.”

* * *

“Here birdy,” Caboose called with a smile. 

It was a nice warm day. He didn’t train today. He only trained once a week, just like his friend Butterscotch. Unlike the rest of the kids, who trained once a day.

So, he had way more free time than he knew what to do with and since he wasn’t allowed to make friends with the other children, he decided to make friends with the birds. It was very rare that the Counselor let Caboose outside and he wanted to make the most of it. 

After all, if he made friends with enough birds then they would sometimes hang out with him at his window. So, Caboose brought a bag of seeds with him into the backyard. 

The bird cocked its head at Caboose as he held out a few seeds in his hand. Caboose smiled and spilled the seeds out onto the concrete next to him. 

The bird hopped over to him and pecked at the seeds in front of the child. Caboose smiled. “Would you like to be my friend?” He asked the bird. The bird didn’t respond, just continued eating the provided seeds. 

“You do?” Caboose asked as if the bird had said something. “I knew you would. I will name you Sheila. And you will be my best friend. Other than Church that is.” Caboose told the bird with a smile. 

Caboose watched as Sheila ate and noticed her wing was bent weirdly. “Are you hurt, Sheila?” Caboose asked. 

The pigeon looked up at him and then stuffed its face back into its food. 

“You need my help?” Caboose gawked. “I do not know Sheila. The Counselor told me to not touch the birds.” Caboose thought for a moment. To him, it was obvious that this bird needed his help, and that he was the only one who could help it. 

Caboose leaned forward to hold the bird. Sheila looked up at him and then back down at her meal, continuing to pluck away. 

Caboose picked her up and held her against him. The pigeon squirmed in his hand.

“Do not worry Sheila. I am helping you.”

The pigeon continued to squirm and attempted to get out of his grip. 

“Sheila please stop moving. I can not help you when you are moving like that.” Caboose said, tightening his grip. 

The pigeon let out a few disgruntled noises as it continued to attempt at freedom. It flapped its only working wing a few times and twitched, making more pained noises before going still in Caboose’s grip. 

Caboose smiled. “Thank you, Sheila, now I can fix your wing.” Caboose then placed the still bird on the ground and tried straightening out the wing. Caboose frowned. If he was going to be a good doctor he needed to make sure his patient had everything she needed. Caboose reached behind him and took a handful of seeds. He placed it by Sheila’s head then with a smile. “There, you can nibble on that while I fix your wing.”

Caboose watched the bird. She did not make any attempt to eat her food.

“Sheila?” Caboose questioned. The bird did not move. It made no noise. It stayed still. 

“Sheila? Oh no. Sheila wake up.”

Caboose frowned.

“Sheila this is not funny. Best friends do not trick each other.”

She’s not dead, just sleeping he told himself. He looked back down at the still bird. Realization sunk in and tears formed at the corner of Caboose’s eyes. 

“Sheila?” He whimpered

Caboose looked down at the pigeon with eyes widened in horror. 

“What have I done? Sheila, please wake up!” Caboose cried, tears streaming down his face. 

Caboose quickly stood up and picked up the pigeon, cradling it in his arms. He ran to the porch and opened the door. He marched up to the Director’s office as he continued to cry. He removed one hand from the pigeon and knocked rapidly on the door. 

“Come in.” He heard from the other side. 

Caboose quickly opened the door and ran in front of the Director's desk. “Mr. Director please help me! Sheila is not moving.” He cried. 

The Director raised a brow and sat up in his chair. He looked over his desk and stared at the dead bird in Caboose’s hands. 

“Put the animal on my desk.” He said sternly.

Caboose frowned. He wanted to correct the Director and say that her name was Sheila but, the Director scared him. Caboose obliged and placed Sheila on the middle of his desk.

The Director frowned and poked the bird with the end of his pen. The bird stayed motionless. 

“Micheal, how did the pigeon die?”

Caboose sniffled. “I do not know. I was trying to fix her wing and she stopped moving.”

The Director eyed him. “Did you kill the bird?”

More tears fell down Caboose’s face as he shook his head no.

“Tell the truth. Did. You. Kill the bird?”

Caboose frowned and looked up at Sheila in horror at his actions. “I did not mean to!” He sobbed.

The Director smiled. “It’s ok Micheal. This is good.” 

“No, it is not.” Caboose sniffled.

“Yes, it is. It means your using your powers. You just need to learn how to control them. Be more careful. Remember what we talked about?” The Director asked.

Caboose nodded. “Everything is fragile. Objects, humans, and animals.” Caboose finished.

The Director nodded. “Very good.” He then took the end of his pen and coldly pushed the dead bird off of his desk and into the trash can. “You may leave now.”

* * *

The thing about the house was that it was possible to leave. Chruch had no idea where'd he go and to be honest, he wouldn't want to leave without Texas. But it wasn't impossible to find a way through the cracks in the fence. 

Maybe when he grew up, it'd be harder. 

But for now, he could commonly leave out the crack in the back fence. Of course never in the morning. He was constantly busy. The Director kept him that way during the day and when the Director wasn’t forcing him to train, Caboose was latching himself on to him and following him around. The only time he really got peace was at night. 

Texas was this way too. Sometimes he would see her around. She would usually come up to him and they’d sit together for a little while until Church got tired and went inside. 

You had to be extremely careful not to fall asleep. If you fell asleep and the Director or the Counselor noticed you were missing. Well, let’s just say there would be a severe punishment.

The only reason Church risked it was to hang out with Texas. 

That was exactly what led him to be sitting on the piney grass in the forest behind the large house, clutching his jacket and listening to the distant howling of both the wind and a nearby wolf.

There wasn’t anywhere to go. The giant house was sectioned off from the rest of the world. The only other building around was a house of equal size a few miles to the left of them. And those people, like the Director, enjoyed their privacy.

According to Tucker, a little girl around his age also lived there. He said they would talk through their fence whenever she rode her bike down there. 

Tucker was so excited when he first met her. He actually came running to Church telling him all about the girl. Apparently, her name was Carmen, but she preferred the name Crunchbite, which was stupid but whatever. She had brown flowy hair, and she liked math. Church reckoned he was full of crap because honestly, what girl would want to talk to Tucker?

Church zipped up his jacket. The only downside of his sanctuary was that it was cold. He looked around the peaceful area as the wind blew his hair around. It was the shuffling noise that caused him to look behind him. 

There were a lot of noises in the forest. Owls, acorns falling, the shaking of the trees when it got windy, but this was definitely the sound of another animal. 

He looked towards a scramble of leaves and a young grey wolf carefully exited from beyond the trees. About a hundred feet from him, the wolf carefully cocked its head at him, growling lowly. 

Church kept his place and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not falling for that again.” He told her. "You can't scare me."

The wolf seemed not to care and sauntered over to him, dead bits of grass visible in her coat. She laid down next to him, wrapping her tail around her front. 

Church looked down at her and reached his hand out, slowly petting down her back. She looked up at him with vicious eyes but carelessly returned to her previous state. 

Church trailed his hand up her spine and scratched up behind her ears, she whined softly in response. 

“You’re loving this aren’t you?” 

She looked up at him and gave him a more hostile growl at his comment. She stood up and Church looked back out into the forest as she morphed back into her original state. It was a quick process that she had been getting increasingly better at.

If it wasn’t for the Director’s curiosity in the boundaries of her abilities she would only practice once a week like Donut and Caboose. 

There really wasn’t any need for animal shapeshifting, unless it grew into human or item shapeshifting, which Chrcuh supposed the Director was hoping for.

She laid back next to him, her hair sprawled out against the ground, and placed her arms behind her head. 

He took a glance at her; twigs and dried grass decorating her blond hair.

“You better clean up, the Directors gonna know you were out rolling in the grass.” He told her. 

Texas scoffed. “I’m sure he won’t notice.” 

She was probably right.

It sucked. At age nine they were sneaking out, cursing, and never had the real chance at a childhood. All of this and under little to none supervision.

But they weren’t bad kids. They were smart and they all had things they enjoyed. Caboose and his animals, Tucker and his music, Texas and her writing, and so on. 

Texas looked over at him. “You on the other hand…” She trailed off. 

Church rolled his eyes. “Yea, whatever.”

“You know I’m right.”

Church frowned and stood up from his spot on the grass. “I’m tired, clean up before you head back.” 

He wasn’t tired and he knew she didn’t need reminding on what to do. (She was smart, she could handle it) But he didn’t like it when the topic of the Director and him came up. It wasn’t his fault the Director wouldn’t leave him alone. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed back towards the old fence. 

Texas sighed and looked up at the night’s stars. She still had a little while before she would be too tired to head back. She sat up and looked over her shoulder, watching Church walk away. 

She faced forward, back towards the forest, and closed her eyes. She concentrated on the animal she wanted to take the form of and pushed whatever she had with Church into the back of her mind. 

He wasn’t worth it, she kept telling herself. 

But those were the Director’s words, and she found them hard to believe.

She heard his cold voice echoing in her ears.

“Love is pain, my daughter."

* * *

“You know how this works. You need to concentrate. Keep practicing and soon it will come to you naturally.” 

Donut sat bored in the seat next to the Director. The kids were allowed to watch each session if they wanted to, as long as they were quiet. So when Donut got bored. (Which happened extremely often) He would go downstairs and hang out with Caboose or watch the other kid’s training sessions. 

Donut watched as Simmons closed his eyes. “1, 8, 7, 6.” 

The Director smiled at the Ginger’s response.

“Very good, Richard.” 

Simmon’s training was usually the same thing each time. The Director would set an alarm for 5 minutes and would write down a few numbers on a piece of paper. In 5 minutes the Director would read those letters out loud. Simmons’s job was to look forward in time, hear those numbers, and say them before the 5 minutes were up. 

The Director had said it was a great way to teach Simmons how to control what he saw/heard and to pinpoint a specific time in which he wanted to view. 

The Director expected Simmons to be part of his “big plan” 

The Director talked about his big plan often. Saying which kid was important to it, and which kid wasn’t. But the plan itself, he kept to himself. None of the children knew what it was exactly, not even Church. Although there were rumors that the Director told Texas about his plan. But that didn’t make much sense. The only thing Donut really knew about it was that the Director planned to teach Simmons how to look at least a year into the future. 

The Director had a use for each child and believed they each had a huge ability that, with practice, would become extremely useful to the Director. That was every child except for Donut and Caboose. 

For some reason, all the other kids worked with the Director once a day, sometimes more, while Caboose and Donut only spent one day a week with the Director, sometimes less.

Not only was it not fair, but it left Caboose and Donut without anything to do. 

Donut wanted to be released into the world. He wanted to experience things head-on! Suck it up and spit it out! Taste the wondrous things the world had to offer! 

But the Director was extremely strict about leaving the house. 

That being, you couldn’t. 

“I believe that’s all for today Richard. You may retire to your room.” 

Simmons nodded and happily got up from his chair. “Yes sir.” He saluted, before leaving the room.

Simmons sucked up on the Director a lot. 

Donut noticed he did that quite often. But then again, Simmons always was the best kid out of all of them. He followed the rules to a strict content, listened to every order the Director barked at them, and followed them to the best of his ability. 

Donut rarely talked to Simmons because of this. Simmons believed having relations with the other children was against the rules. So, they didn’t usually see a lot of him. Except for Grif, who made it his personal mission to talk to Simmons every chance he got, just because he knew it annoyed him. 

They would make a cute couple, Donut thought with a smile as Simmons walked up the stairs. 

The Director gathered a few items on the table, including his notes and recorder from the session, (The Director believed documentation was important) and got up from his chair, ready to head back to his office. 

Donut sat there as the Director got up. 

He was so bored. He wanted to play with Caboose but he was busy with Church.

It wasn’t fair. 

Donut wanted to have fun. He wanted to practice the extent of his abilities and feel important like the rest of the kids. 

All the other kids were excited about reaching their full potential. They all had cool abilities that they could look forward to. A motivation to be the best that Donut would never understand. A feeling of accomplishment when they got one step closer, that Donut would never get to experience. He would never even know what his ultimate ability was. Never know what he was truly capable of.

Donut had to deal with an exhausting handicap (literally) and didn’t even get to reap the benefits of the hard work that caused it.

It just wasn’t fair.

Donut sat up in his chair and turned around. He held onto the back arch of the chair, sitting on his knees facing the Director’s direction. “Hey, Director?” Donut asked as the older man began walking away.

The Director halted his movements and turned around to face Donut with an unimpressed look. “Yes, Franklin?”

Donut bit his lip nervously, becoming increasingly aware of the confrontation he was about to ask. “How comes all the other kids practice once a day while me and Caboose only-”

“Caboose and I.” The Director corrected mid-sentence. 

Donut nodded. “Caboose and I.” Donut repeated before continuing. “How comes we only practice once a week?” 

The Director’s expression didn’t change. “Because,” He started with a slight sigh. “I have no need for your powers. You and Caboose both. I see no advancement in your abilities that could benefit me.”

“Why not?”

The Director raised a brow. “Your abilities are too simple. There won’t help me in any way. Not only that but they would very quickly degrade any mission and become useless since you and Caboose both experience your handicaps during the full stretch of the day.”

Donut frowned. He somewhat expected an answer quite like the one he received, but he secretly hoped the Director would realize he made some sort of mistake and train them every day. “Well, can’t you just train us every day anyway?” Donut suggested, fully knowing he was about to be turned down. 

“Every training session is carefully calculated by the last. It takes a lot of time and resources. Now, why would I waste my valuable time working on something that won’t benefit me in the long run?”

Donut frowned, feeling on the verge of tears.

Why couldn’t he have just said no?

Why did he have to make him feel worthless?

“But-” Donut started. 

“I will not waste resources and time on you or Michael. Do I make myself clear?” The Director asked, his brow furrowing at Donut’s complaining. 

“Yes.” The child said quietly, slumping against the back of the chair.

The Director nodded. “Good.” He said coldly, before turning around and leaving the room.

Donut turned back around in the seat and flinched as the door shut abruptly behind him.

* * *

Grif kept his eyes screwed shut. 

Why wasn’t this working?

He could do it yesterday.

He opened his eyes but there was nothing there. Just him, The Director, and The Counselor. No ghosts, no demons, nothing. 

“I can’t see them,” Grif complained. 

“Try again.” The Director told him impatiently. 

Grif rolled his eyes but continued to close them anyway. He needed to see something, anything. The smallest sketch would satisfy the Director. But he couldn’t leave it blank. Maybe he could just pretend like he saw something and draw a random black blob on the white piece of parchment.

“Relax,” Grif heard the Director say from across the table. “Let them come to you.”

Grif took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. How was he supposed to allow them to come to him? It didn’t make any sense. 

Grif opened his eyes and looked around the room. Nothing. 

“There aren’t any in here.” He said agitatedly. 

“They’re here.” The Director told him. 

“Well, I can’t see them.” Grif bit the inside of his lip in an attempt to dial down his frustration. “They don’t want to be seen.” 

The Director laughed. A coldhearted, scary sound, that shouldn’t have been heard by a child. “You’re making excuses for yourself, Dexter. They want more than anything for you to be able to see them.” 

“What if I don’t want to see them?” Grif mumbled, crossing his arms as he slumped in his seat. 

The Director frowned. “Then you and you powerless Sister can pack up your stuff and be thrown out onto the street.” 

“We wouldn’t have to be on the street.” Grif bit back.

The Director looked at the child. At first, amused but then intrigued. “Alright, where would you go?” He asked, testing the waters of Grif’s knowledge.

“We’d go back home.” Grif spat out at him. “With my mother before you took us from her.”

The Director smirked, agitation visible in his features. “You have no home.” He told Grif with the amount of venom that could scare anyone. “Your mother gave you and your sister up the first time I asked for you. I didn’t need to make an offer, she handed you over to me without thinking. She didn’t regret it either. If she did, she wouldn’t have handed Kaikaina off to me 3 years after she abandoned you.” The Director snapped. “This is your home, without this place you would have nothing, you would be nothing.” It was miraculous how hateful someone could sound without raising their voice. 

Grif looked drawn back, he hadn’t known about that. 

Did she really just give them up like that?

He always assumed that she did everything she could to keep them, that she was still fighting every single day in the hopes that she would one day be reunited with them. 

“I don’t believe you.” Grif said quietly, unsure of the words that had just come out of his mouth. 

“Then why hasn’t she come for you yet?” The Director asked cruelly

Grif opened his mouth to speak, but realization washed over him and he quickly shut it. 

“That’s what I thought. Now close your eyes and when you open them I want to see some sketches of what you saw.” The Director mused, emotionlessly. “I don’t have to harbor you and your sister.” He added. 

Dousing fuel to the fire. 

Grif clenched his fists and held back tears as he closed his eyes once more. 

He begged for them to come. 

Save my sister and me, save my sanity. 

He needed to think of something other than the pain he felt now. 

The pain of the realization that he was alone. He truly did have nothing, just him, Kai, and this godforsaken house. 

The pain of abandonment sunk in as he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. 

Forget it.

It doesn’t matter. 

He’s fine. 

He doesn’t care. 

Who needs all of that anyway?

Not him. 

When he opened his eyes, the only demon he saw was a shy looking girl with beautiful brown hair smiling back at him. 

* * *

The breakfast table was supposed to be quiet. 

Whenever the Director watched them during meal times he reminded the children time and time again that they were not allowed to converse during that time. Or at all. 

It was the Director’s main rule; you weren’t allowed to have relations with the other children. 

Simmons didn’t fully understand why. He supposed it was because some kids may be a bad influence on the other, but that didn’t sound right. But that was ok, he didn’t need to understand. Just needed to follow. After all, who was he to defy an authority figure?

The rules were the rules and he would follow them without question whether he understood them or not. 

But the Counselor didn’t care about the Director’s rules as much. So during the times where he would watch them as they ate, he was more lenient; letting them talk with each other as long as the volume stayed around a whisper.

Of course, the other children went ahead and disobeyed the most important rule the Director ever gave them, but not Simmons. Simmons was a good kid, he would follow the rules when everybody else didn’t. 

Maybe one day the Director would notice how Simmons followed the rules to a strict extent, or how he was the only kid that had never snuck out during bedtime, or that he was the best-mannered and tried his hardest during practice sessions.

“How do you get your hair to be that weird red color?”

Simmons looked up from his bowl of oatmeal to the child next to him. He knew everybody’s names and which hall they were in but that was about it. Like he said; he followed the rules and therefore had never really spoken to the other kids. “What?” He asked the other child, whose name he recalled to be Dexter Grif. 

“Your hair.” The child stated. “How’d you get it to be that red color?”

Simmons raised a brow. “It’s just- It’s the color of my hair.”

Grif snorted, shoveling a spoonful of cinnamon soaked oatmeal into his mouth. “That’s a dumb answer.” 

“It’s was a dumb question.” Simmons retorted. 

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Grif joked snarkily. 

“My mother?” What was he talking about? Simmons didn’t have a mother. “No, I- Stop talking to me, Dexter.” 

Grif made a face of disgust at Simmons before shoveling another spoonful of food into his mouth. “Don’t call me Dexter. Makes you sound like the Director.” He mumbled, food in his mouth.

Simmons rolled his eyes and turned his attention onto his own food as he began poking at the heat bubbles with his spoon.

“Call me Grif.” The child next to him said. 

Simmons ignored him for two reasons. 1: He wasn’t supposed to be talking to the other children and 2: He was annoying.

“Have you always worn glasses?” 

Simmons sighed. “Stop talking to me.” He hissed, agitated. 

Grif didn’t look hurt, if anything he looked confused as he looked around the room. “The Counselor doesn’t care if you talk,” Grif stated. 

“Just because there’s no one here to enforce the rules doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow them.” 

Grif snorted. “That’s exactly what that means.”

Simmons shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth, cleaning out his bowl, before excusing himself from the table. He still had a few more hours until he had to train with the Director so he decided to head up to his room and read a book. 

There weren’t that many books in the house. Not kid books anyway. Although if you had wanted something like a book or a toy, all you had to do was ask the Director and he would get it for you. The problem with asking for books was that Simmons didn’t know what books were out there, he didn’t know what title he could give the Director so that he could get one.

It was only about an hour into his reading when he heard a knock on his door. Simmons looked up from his book and sat upon his bed. 

No one ever knocked on his door and he didn’t have to train for at least another half hour, so it couldn’t have been the Director. Maybe it was and he had scheduled his session wrong.

Before he had a chance to respond the door flung open and Grif walked in with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“What are you doing in my room?” Simmons asked him the moment he came into sight. 

Grif sauntered in and began examining the room. “Wow, your room is so clean.” He marveled.

Simmons placed his book aside and sat criss-cross on his bed. “That’s because I like all my items to be easily located. Seriously, what are you doing in here?” 

Grif shrugged. “Happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Simmons rolled his eyes. “You can’t be in here.” He said, annoyed. 

“Why not?” Grif practically whined. 

“Because it’s against the rules.” Simmons retorted, frustration pushing his voice to a high pitched squeal.

Grif rolled his eyes. “Relax, the Director is working with Texas. He won’t even notice.”

“You can’t just do whatever you want.” Simmons protested, whining a little. “I don’t want the Director to get mad at me.” 

“He won’t get mad, he probably knows that everybody talks with each other.” 

Simmons huffed. “You can not care all you want, but I want the Director to know that I’m a good child, so you have to leave.” 

“Why do you do that?” Grif asked, his expression softening into concern.

“Do what?” 

“Why do you need validation from the Director? You know he won’t notice you no matter what you do.” 

Simmons crossed his arms against his chest. “I don’t care.”

Grif frowned. “Teacher’s pet.” 

“Why do you talk to me if you think I’m such a teacher's pet?” Simmons exasperated with a motion of his hands. 

Grif shrugged. “I just wanted to be your friend.” He said quietly, before turning to leave. 

Simmons’s facial expression softened as he hopped up from his bed. “Grif wait,” He called quickly.

Grif turned around to look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Simmons said nervously. He then quickly glanced around the room before turning back to look at the other child. “Wanna see the lego spaceship I made?” He asked with a sheepish smile. 

Grif smiled. “Heck yeah.”


	5. hallucinations et formalités

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davib WashingMctub 
> 
> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! <3

Saying she was excited was an understatement. She was elated. The last time she had seen him was when she left the home at 18 and began moving around the country and now she was about to be reunited with him for the first time in years and it felt  _ good _ . 

Felt good to have a day off of work and worries and Georgia and Sarge’s crazy conspiracy theories. Basically, everything that was stressing her out and eating its way through all the walls she worked hard to keep up. 

But it was okay today because it was a beautiful Saturday morning and she was picking up her brother from the airport. Today was going to be a good day. 

“Just keep listing the positives.” She mumbled, pulling her car up to the front of the building.

She spotted him right away. 

Jesus, even after all these years he still looked the same. A suitcase by his side, messy blond hair, face covered in freckles. He looked tired, but maybe that was because of the time zone difference.

Carolina hopped out of her car, her bright red hair blowing back from the wind as she walked over to the curb with her hands stuffed in her pockets. 

Washington spotted her red hair and smiled. “I see you still dye it” He commented. 

Carolina laughed, making her way over to him. “I hate the blond.” She replied, as she always did when he commented on her hair. 

Wash pulled her into a hug and she instantly rested her head against his shoulder. “I missed you.” He said quietly. 

Carolina pulled away. “You too, it’s been a while.” 

When Carolina left the orphanage she was 18. Wash had always been two years younger than her and was not allowed to leave with her. It sucked, but they had forms of communication that did last up to the current day. But it wasn’t the same as being able to see him and hug him. 

Wash nodded. “It has, you kind of left really abruptly.” 

Carolina sighed. When she said she left, she more or less meant bolted out at exactly 12am on the day of her 18th birthday. Bolting, without giving so much as a goodbye. “I had to get out of there.” She defended, somewhat saddened. 

Washington shrugged. “I get it, the place sucked,” He joked. “I would have done the same.” 

Carolina nodded. “Right well, let’s not stand here in the cold. I’ll help you take that to the car.” She offered. 

Washington gripped the handle of one of his suitcases and moved over so she could grab the other one. “Thanks.” 

They made their way over to her car and Carolina popped the trunk and lifted the suitcase in her hands into the vehicle. Wash followed as she did and backed up when he was done so that she could shut the back. 

“If you want,” Carolina started to say, circling to the front of the car with her keys. She then unlocked the car as they both got in and she continued. “We could go get coffee and some lunch before we head to the office." She paused. "Where are you staying?” 

Washington looked over to her, buckling his seatbelt. “Uh, some motel and yea, sounds great, you know a place?”

Carolina put the keys into the ignition. “Yea, there’s a cafe downtown. It’s called the Donut hole or something like that.” 

She would never tell Sarge this, but after he talked about Donut, she actually went down to the cafe to talk to him and make her own evaluation.

She went down there and ordered a coffee. The coffee was great and Donut was super sweet, as usual. She doubted they had anything to worry about with him. 

“Sounds interesting.” Wash retorted as Carolina began backing the car out of the parking spot. 

The ride to the cafe only took about half an hour and there was no wait at the small restaurant, so they got a seat pretty quick. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed the cafe. It was well known enough so that she could find it and not known just enough for her to have a peaceful place to quickly eat. 

The food was also delicious, and the coffee was really effective.

“I wonder why this place isn’t more popular,” Wash commented, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked around the building. “Service is great.” 

Carolina nodded, agreeing as she watched Donut come over with their food. “I’m not sure.” She noted.

Donut came over with a smile. “One Cinnabon and a blueberry muffin.” He confirmed, handing Carolina her muffin and turning to give Wash his food. “Good choice with the topping.” He commented. “Most people ask me to put my cream in the hole, but I’ve always preferred it on the side. I don't usually like a mouth full of cream.” He commented, his facial expression showing no intention of implying anything dirty. 

Washington just nodded slighting, giving a weak smile as Donut left them to eat. “Is he always like that?” He questioned, uneasily. 

Carolina laughed. “You get used to it.” 

Washington shrugged, taking a bite of his Cinnabon. “So what’s the deal with this case?” 

Carolina pursed her lips, thinking of the best way to explain it. “It’s definitely a weird one.” She concluded. “I’ll give you the files, but there's a lot of things that don't make sense.” 

“What? Like with the suspect.” Wash questioned, putting down his food. 

“It’s more than that.” Carolina insisted. “Nothings quite right. It seems like it should be a simple case. The police spotted drug ring-inflicted conflict, but there are things I can't explain and stuff is happening suddenly left and right. It's like the worse cause and effect ever." 

“Of all time?” 

Carolina laughed. "Yea, pretty much." She eased, desperation seeping through her voice. 

“Don’t worry.” He assured. “We’ll figure it out.” 

* * *

  
  


“In there?” Sarge questioned, pointing towards the building across the street as he took a sip from his coffee cup.

Simmons nodded. “That’s the place.” He said with ease. "I scooped it out a little while ago and only told you now so that you could barge in and be the hero." He then lied quickly.

Sarge shifted in his seat. They had decided to get coffee at a nearby gas station while they staked out the perpetrator's hideout. So he sat comfortably in the passenger seat, waiting for Simmons to give the ok, for whatever reason. “I still don’t understand why we have to wait so long,” Sarge grumbled. “I could easily march in there and let my shotgun do all the work.” 

“Because we have to wait for him to enter.” Simmons lied, not bothering to mention the fact that Sarge didn't have a shotgun. He didn't dare bring it up since it was apparently a soft topic for him since Carolina constantly told him to stop bringing his shotgun into work because it scared civilians. 

Besides that, the truth of the matter was that Simmons was waiting for Caboose and Church to leave. Thankfully Church agreed to leave out of the back entrance that day without so much of a fuss, namely because Simmons offered to pay for his breakfast at the Donut Hole. It was just easier that way. The fewer people Sarge saw; the better. 

Simmons checked his phone as it buzzed. 

**Church:** **were gone now loser you can go in -Delivered 9:08am**

Simmons tucked his phone away in his pocket and looked towards Sarge as he opened the car door. “All clear.” He affirmed.

Sarge smiled and grabbed the door handle, kicking the door open, causing Simmons to wince at the footprint he was going to leave. “Hell yea!” Sarge cheered. “Let’s show this barbie boy who’s boss!” 

Simmons rolled his eyes as Sarge led the way, walking towards the building with his gun raised. He let Sarge lead as if to not seem like he knew his way around the place and made sure to keep an eye out for Tucker. 

Church left the door open for them, so they got in easily. Which should have been suspicious to any cop, but then again, Sarge was not a very good cop. 

Sarge crept around corners with his gun raised as Simmons followed, anxiety high as he occasionally looked around for Tucker. 

If that asshat claimed he was gonna be there and decided to show up late, forcing Simmons to have to stall; he was going to kill him. 

Simmons began fiddling with his thumbs as his worry began to grow with Sarge’s grumbling about the place seeming empty. 

He could tell Sarge was getting antsy and was probably about to do something to draw attention to himself like make a noise to bring any perpetrators that weren't there to him.

Simmons kept his movements light, following after Sarge when they rounded the corner and suddenly Sarge was grabbed by the shoulder and whipped around. 

“Hands u-” Sarge started before he was cut off by the sound of Tucker’s voice. 

“Stop talking, look at me, lower your gun.” Tucker stated seriously, watching him with a stern expression.

Simmons almost sighed in relief as Sarge’s expression deadpanned. He stopped talking and began to lower his gun.

“Do not raise your gun again until you leave this building and do not speak,” Tucker commanded, not breaking eye contact. 

Simmons stood up and moved around them in order to stay out of the way. He wasn’t sure about how Tucker’s power worked exactly. He knew his words had a high influence on people and that he was able to get into people’s minds and make decisions for them, portraying what they saw, heard, and did. But he wasn’t sure how he did it or what he needed to do. 

Although, he did recall Tucker telling him his ability was easier to do with the weak-minded or when he caught the person by surprise. 

“You know Donut as the manager of the cafe, the Donut hole. You do not think of him as a bad guy, villain, murderer, super-human, or any of the things those teens told you.” Tucker continued stating, knowing his commands were being put into effect by the fact that Sarge followed the first ones. 

Simmons did vaguely remember hearing the Director getting mad at Tucker when they were younger because Tucker wasn’t being precise when he gave commands. 

Simmons didn’t intervene, not wanting to bear the Director’s wrath, but had heard enough to know that Tucker was leaving space for wiggle room or loopholes in his demands. Which was probably why Tucker was always so careful about that now. 

“You are going to leave here with Simmons and head to the police department. Then you will carry on with your day as if you were never here nor had the intention of coming here.” 

Simmons stood off to the side, unsure of what to do as he watched Sarge’s blank expression as he was given orders. 

“You may speak. Now put your gun away and walk out back to the car.” Tucker finally said once Sarge had retained the information. 

Sarge nodded, tucked his gun into his back pocket, and without a word; turned to leave the building. 

Simmons smiled and didn’t say anything, but waved towards Tucker as a thank you as he followed after Sarge. 

Tucker waved off back as if to say ‘no problem’. 

Sarge was silent the entire ride to the police department, having Simmons wondering if maybe Tucker had messed something up. 

Maybe he accidentally made him remember nothing or not be able to speak, or maybe it didn’t work at all and Sarge was being crafty; waiting for the right moment to pull a gun on him and have him admitted into an insane asylum for all the talk of superpowers and Donut and handicaps and-

‘Relax; Simmons forced himself to think. 

It was thoughts like that that got him admitted in the first place. 

He just needed to calm down, everything was fine. 

Simmons took a deep breath as he continued to drive. He was going to head to the police department and Sarge was going to go back to his regular self. Then, Simmons was going to finish work, go home, and relax with Grif. 

Everything would be ok. 

* * *

“Caboose,” Church started, his patience wearing thin as he looked back towards the big idiot. “If you attempt to catch one more bird, I am going to lose my shit.” He stressed, having stopped walking to chastise Caboose. 

Caboose looked up at him with a sheepish smile and quickly ran up the sidewalk to catch up to Church. “I was making friends.” He said simply. “I was never allowed to when we lived in the big scary house.” He said sadly. 

“That’s because you always killed them all.” Church huffed, turning his attention back onto the sidewalk as he began walking, leaving Caboose to catch up. 

Caboose frowned. “Not all of them.” 

Church chuckled. “Oh, right. Who could forget the one that got away?” 

Caboose smiled. “Stupid Tucker said he was very proud of me for helping him.” 

Church nodded, not bothering to tell Caboose that the only reason Tucker told him that was because Tucker was the one who convinced Caboose to let the fucking bird go and the valley girl was impressed with the way Tucker sloppily handled the situation when he told her about it. 

“Are we going to see Donut?” Caboose asked after a moment of silence. 

Church nodded. “Yea, I figured we’d get coffee and orange juice while Tucker fixes Sarge and throws his little hissy fit at home.” 

Caboose nodded. “Church?” He asked. 

“Yes, Caboose?” 

“Why is Tucker throwing a tantrum?” 

Church snickered. When Junior used to throw tantrums back at the house at 3 am in the fucking morning, Caboose would shake him awake and ask why baby Junior was sad and Church would give him the same response each time. 

“Because he’s a drama queen.” 

Caboose nodded. “Ah, yes. That makes a lot of sense.” 

The larger part of the reason was that Tucker hated having to go around fixing problems. 

Church rolled his eyes and looked both ways before taking Caboose’s hand and crossing the street. 

“When we get to Donut’s can I borrow your phone?” Caboose asked eagerly. “I would like to show him the photos of Freckles in the sombrero.”

Church nodded and glanced across the street, paying little attention to Caboose as something caught his eye.

Motherfucker. 

He dropped Caboose’s hand as they came to the curb. 

Was that another motherfucking wolf?

He should have walked away. 

He was imagining shit. 

It wasn’t her.

It couldn’t be her. 

He ran after it. 

Left Caboose in a heartbeat and sprinted across the street. It wasn’t a busy street or anything so, there would be no risk. And even if there was; he couldn’t find himself to care at the moment. 

Caboose watched as his best friend left him, running down the road. “Church?” He questioned. 

Caboose paused. “You gonna come back?” 

Caboose sighed, confused, and a tad bit scared, as he looked around the road and realized he had no idea where he was. “Yea, I am just going to walk…” He trailed off as Church disappeared from sight and as he glanced towards a nearby stop sign. “That way.” He said excitedly. 

“Yes, that way.” He said, walking in a random direction. “This is fine.” 

Church came to a halt as he looked around a horde of people. 

Where was she? She was just here.

He glanced around quickly as the colors of the people around him and the noises of the cars all seemed to blend together. 

He bit his lip and spotted her quickly. “Texas.” He muttered as the wolf was no longer a wolf and instead kept her form as she was; the beautiful woman with long blond hair and sharp blue eyes.

She stood there with a smile, looking back at him. 

He should have known it wasn’t actually her. Texas never would have smiled at him. 

She frowned and turned away, her blond hair bouncing, as well as it could in her tight ponytail, as she disappeared into a group of people. 

“Texas?!” Church called, quickly becoming out of breath as he pushed people aside in an attempt to catch up to her. 

He followed her to an empty street, leading out into fields of dead grass.

“Texas!?” He called once again. 

She stopped and looked back at him. 

He halted his movements and didn’t dare walk up to her. 

You know that feeling where the closer you seem to get, the further away everything else gets?

That was how he felt. 

And he was so close, he didn’t want to chase her away. 

“Go home, Church.” She told him, her voice sounding a tad bit desperate. 

“Wait, but.” He paused. “What are you doing here?” 

Tex frowned and her brows furrowed as if she was frustrated. She winced and turned towards the empty paths of grass as she began walking again.

“Wait” He called, taking a step closer. “Don’t go.” 

And that was a mistake because the closer he got-

-the faster she ran. 

And soon, he lost her. 

Again. 

He collapsed in a pile of dead grass, unsure of where he was, sore and out of breath. “Fuck.” He hissed. 

He doubled over and ripped at the grass in front of him. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He cursed, tearing pieces of dead plant from its roots. He sighed as his fingers grew sore and his voice grew hoarse. 

“Fuck.” He muttered a final time, defeated as dirt was caught under his fingernails and grass stains probably littered his pants. 

He sighed, disappointed that he’d let her get away. 

* * *

  
  


“I’m picking up lunch,” Grif spoke into the phone. “From that stupid food place you like on the corner. Call me back or I’m coming to your office and harassing you at work.” Grif ended the call and saved the voicemail. 

He sighed as he stuffed his phone in his pocket. He kept the ringer on, just in case Simmons called him back. 

He wouldn’t answer if he did. 

Grif liked listening to Simmon’s screechy voicemails ranting about how he couldn’t just show up at his work and annoy him every time he was bored. 

Namely, because Sarge got peeved and refused to let Grif hang around unless he was working or doing push-ups or something stupid like that and when Sarge did get Grif to do something, there became an all-out war on whether Grif would be getting paid or not. Then Carolina would come out and get mad, blaming Simmons for letting Grif into the building in the first place. 

And then Simmons would get all passive-aggressive and when he spoke his voice would get all high pitched and whiny. 

Grif didn’t care, he loved it. 

He chuckled at the memory, stepping forward in the ridiculously long line for the trashy fast food place. 

“Why are there so many people at Arby’s on a Thursday afternoon?” He grumbled, complaining to no one in particular. 

He should've been at the bar working, but he really didn’t feel like it. 

Not today anyway. 

He woke up from a horrible nightmare, dripping in sweat with Simmons nowhere to be found. So, it was reasonable to say his morning was off to a rocky start. 

“Rooster Teeth.” He heard a voice call behind him. 

Grif turned around and paused; a blank expression on his face as he locked eyes with a middle-aged man wearing a large tan coat. 

“Rooster Teeth.” The stranger repeated, pointing towards Grif’s hoodie for emphasis on what he was trying to convey. 

Grif looked down at his sweatshirt and nodded. “Oh right,” He mumbled as he noticed the brand of the hoodie he was wearing. The red logo was clear as day in the vibrant lighting of the room. He was in a rush to get out of his dark house that morning and must not have realized he threw on his favorite merch. 

“I loved their content.” The stranger said. 

Grif looked up at the guy “Dude, they make the funniest shit.” 

The stranger smiled. “They really do, I loved their happy hour series with Geoff and Griffon.” 

Grif shrugged. The series was slightly outdated with Geoff and Griffon being broken up for a while now but to each of its own. “Old but gold.” He said instead. 

The stranger nodded. “And that one scene-” 

“Next.” Grif heard the cashier call behind him. 

Grif turned around to glance at the cashier. He was visibly a tad bit older with his grey hair and batches of wrinkles under his eyes, so maybe the next words that came out of his mouth were more understandable. 

Grif stepped towards the register, frowning as the employee at the counter spoke again. “Oh, you kids and your electronic, talking ear devices.” He said with a chuckle. “Thought you were crazy there for a second.’ 

Grif raised a brow at the employee. “What? No, I don’t have an ear device, I’m talking to-” Grif turned around to the stranger behind him and it only all clicked together when the person behind the stranger stepped through him in order to move forward in line. 

“Hey hun, hurry up, I’ve got two kids in the car and my shift starts in half an hour.” The woman spoke urgently. 

Grif just stared at the stranger she walked through, slightly baffled. 

The stranger just shrugged at him with a smile, his figure's opacity raising.

“You alright there?” The woman asked, concerned.

Grif sighed. “Yea, I just.” He paused, watching as the stranger disappeared from his vision. “Nevermind.” He said, turning to face the ordering counter. 

The older man smiled. “What can I get for ya?” 

Grif could barely remember what he wanted as he looked over the menu. He was still slightly puzzled at his inability to stop the demons from slipping through into his reality.

What was wrong with him? 

He thought he was getting better at this. 

But, between the girl and the stranger, he realized he was having a hard time differentiating between the other side and reality. 

That was not good.

Being able to tell which was which, was the first and most important thing the Director had taught him and if he wasn’t able to do that, how was he supposed to do what Tucker wanted him to do? Or hell, function in his day to day life?

He barely went outside much as it was for that exact reason. 

Maybe he needed to get out more. Being in the real world more often could possibly help with his inability to decipher between the two. 

But then again, that sounded like effort and he wanted no part of it. 

* * *

“Here you go.” Donut said cheerfully as he placed a plate with a Cinnabon in front of a male customer. “Dripping in extra cream, just how you like it.” Donut said with a wink, leaving the customer slightly confused. 

“And I will be right back with your coffee,” Donut continued trailing off to another customer as something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. “Uh, one second.” He told the man as he made a move toward the front of the small cafe. 

He moved aside the pink curtain covering his window and peeped through the other side to see Caboose walking in the middle of the road as cars honked and swerved to get around him. 

“Oh no.” Donut gasped as he quickly rushed out of the store.

Donut practically sprinted out into the road to grab Caboose by his arm and drag him out of incoming traffic.

“Oh hi, Butterscotch,” Caboose said with a smile, completely oblivious to the amount of danger he had just put himself in. 

Donut pulled Caboose into a tight hug, which was quickly reciprocated, and pulled off with a frown. “Caboose?” He stressed. “What were you doing out there all alone in the middle of the street?”

Caboose frowned. “Well, I was walking with Church, but he left.” Caboose said sadly. “And I did not know the way to your tiny restaurant,” Caboose paused. “But I have found it!” He said happily.

Donut nodded. “Caboose, that was extremely dangerous. Promise me, you’ll never do that again.” 

Caboose nodded. “I promise.” He said. “Do you think Church is mad at me?” He questioned after a moment, not caring much about his own well-being and what had just happened. 

Donut frowned. “I’m sure that he isn’t, Caboose. Why don’t you head inside and sit down at one of the tables and I'll bring you some apple juice.” 

Caboose’s frown dissipated and was replaced by a large smile. “Thank you Candy-Cane!” He gushed as he turned to head inside. 

“No problem.” Donut said as he followed. 

He was definitely going to have a word with Church about this. 

There was no reason important enough to ditch Caboose like that. 

* * *

He didn’t want to be there, he didn’t want to be anywhere. It was the feeling of a void, an empty abyss, and he wasn’t sure how to fill it. 

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. 

‘He shouldn’t be seeing her’ 

He kept repeating that to himself as he sulked down the road to the cafe, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

What the hell was wrong with him? 

Because there was no way he should have been seeing her. It had to be something else. It couldn’t have been her. It was probably just a figment of his imagination, a dream, a hallucination, a trick of the mind-

A trick of the mind. 

Church halted his movements towards the cafe. 

“A trick of the mind.” He whispered, confusion and realization coming over him. 

Did Tucker do something to him? 

No. 

He wouldn’t do that, there was no way. 

Church continued walking as he shook that thought out of his mind. There was no way Tucker did anything. Sure, he wouldn’t know that for sure or be able to remember if he did or not, but there was no reason for Tucker to do such a thing.

What could he possibly gain from that besides pissing Church off?

The accusation just didn’t make sense. 

Unless he wanted to piss Church off, which was always highly likely. 

But Church was sure that if Tucker did do something and saw that it was driving him mad with confusion and frustration, that he would stop or come out about it. 

But Tucker had no way of knowing if something was bothering Church unless Church talked to him about it. Which was definitely something that he was not going to do. 

Because they never talked about Texas. 

The same way they never talked about Crunchbite or the Director or the Counselor or anything having to do with that house. 

There were just too many destructive memories. 

And neither one of them needed them being brought up. 

And even if Tucker didn’t know anything about it; Church wasn’t going to talk about it because if Tucker knew Church was seeing something that wasn’t there, especially if that something was Texas; he would think Church was crazy or wasn’t thinking straight.

Which wasn’t the case. Maybe.

Church tried not to think about it as he sulked into the cafe, passing by who he thought looked like the chief of police and some blond guy leaving the small building as he entered. 

Church paid very little mind to that as he spotted Caboose within seconds of entering. The idiot was so loud he was surprised he couldn’t tell he was there from the whole way down the fucking road. 

Church plopped down in the seat next to Caboose, crossing his arms over his chest as he pushed the unwanted thoughts out of his head. He didn’t even care to ask how Caboose managed to get to the cafe.

He wasn’t very concerned about how, to be honest. They had walked there often enough that Church was sure even with his handicap he should have been able to find it. 

Caboose smiled brightly around the straw of his orange juice and quickly placed it on the table.

With way too much force, Church decided, as the carton squished slightly and spilled orange juice over the top from its new bent shape. 

“Oh Church!” He exclaimed happily. “You came back! I am so glad because I had to walk without anybody even being there to hold my hand and I got very scared, but it was okay because I met a friend who I named pigeon!” Caboose smiled and then frowned slightly. “Only, Pigeon ran into the street and I was not fast enough to keep up.” 

Church raised a brow at him and only glared. When he continued to not respond, Caboose looked at him sheepishly and decided to continue talking, most likely to fill up the silence. “But, I had a good walk. Did you have a good walk, Church?” 

More silence. 

“You seemed very eager to go on a walk. That is ok because I know you wanted me to follow and you just forgot to ask. It is ok to forget things, Church, because I-”

“Caboose,” Church hissed. “Shut the fuck up.” 

He just wanted him to stop talking, just once. 

Could he have silence, for just once!?

Caboose frowned and stopped talking, reaching out for his orange juice and taking a sip; looking like a kicked puppy and suddenly Church was being grabbed by the collar and hauled off to the back of the store. 

“What in gosh’s name is wrong with you?” A very pissed off Donut demanded. 

Church rubbed at the back of his neck and hissed. “Ow.” 

“Oh, stop moaning, I barely touched you.” Donut degraded. “You left Caboose, do you know how dangerous that was?” 

“He looks fine to me.” Church grumbled. 

“He could have gotten lost, Church!” Donut exasperated. “Or hit by a car and killed!”

Church shrugged and dropped his arms, averting Donut’s gaze. 

Donut’s face softened as he looked at him. “Are you alright?” He asked sympathetically. "Your clothes are filthy."

Church glanced at him. “I’m fine.” He snapped. 

Donut squinted at him, unsure if he should push for more information because he damn well knew something was up. He decided to say nothing as Church was being an asshat and he still hadn’t made nice with Caboose. “Sure,” He deadpanned, making it clear that he knew Church was lying. “Now go apologize to Caboose!” He ordered. “He thinks you're mad at him.” 

Church groaned as Donut ushered him back towards the table. 

When they got back to the table, Church reluctantly apologized. It may have been a half-assed apology, but it was enough to bring Caboose’s smile back as he pulled Church into a tight hug.

“I am so glad you are back!” Caboose cheered. 

Church clenched his fist, not wanting to be hugged, but smart enough to know he didn’t want to face Donut’s wrath if he pushed Caboose away. “Me too buddy, me too.” He lied through gritted teeth. 

* * *

Sarge stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, smiling up at the building with pride. 

Today was a good day. 

He was feeling a bit out of it earlier in the day, but arriving at the police station definitely helped bring up his mood. 

“You smell that, Simmons?” Sarge asked, pulling his sunglasses up over his forehead. 

Simmons locked the car and looked over to him, seeming somewhat surprised. “Smell what?” He asked, after a moment of odd uncertainty. 

“Justice,” Sarge marveled. “It smells like justice.” 

Simmons nodded. “Glad to know you think so.” His private said wearily. 

Sarge just raised a brow at him as he passed by, walking up the stone stairs that led into the building. 

He had grown aware of Simmons’s nervous squeamishness and had degraded it as nothing. You see, he was smart in the way that he knew everyone was a suspect. Everyone had the possibility of having secret motives. But, Simmons? 

Simmons didn’t. 

Which was the only reason Sarge allowed him to be his second in command. 

Simmons’s lazy friend, however? 

Well, he was still on the fence with that fucktard. 

Sarge cheerfully took a step up onto the stairs and swung open the doors to the building, not knowing or caring what brought on the sudden change in mood. 

Simmons followed closely after, his computer bag swung over his shoulder as he fumbled to catch up. “So, what’s our next move in the case?” He asked, fishing for information on just how much Sarge knew. 

Sarge thought for a moment. 

A first he was confused about what the ever living hell Simmons was talking about. Case? What case? But then, pieces sort of clicked together.

It was hard to explain without thinking too much about it and having his head hurt. He realized what Simmons was talking about and what case he was referring to, but there were spots where he felt like there should be more. 

Like when you woke up from a dream and knew you dreamed, but couldn’t seem to remember the pieces well enough to put them together. 

Sarge shook himself out of his thoughts. “Ah yes,” He declared. “The Georgia case.” He began walking to his office as Simmons stayed close by. “I. And I alone, have made the executive decision that we should no longer engage that case. It'd be against Chief's wishes." Sarge stated proudly. 

Simmons nodded and deciding he could leave Sarge alone, looked towards the REC room to make coffee. 

Or he was about to when he got interrupted by Chief Carolina coming into the main room of the police department as she began making an announcement. 

“Listen up everybody,” She started, standing with her usual poise only this time next to a blond, freckled male. “I have an announcement to make.” 

The building seemed to quiet down as the officers turned to look towards the front of the room.

“As you may all know, Head Detective Georgia is no longer with us.” She said solemnly, earning a few sad looks from the audience. “And because of that, I was forced to pick a new Head Detective.” 

She then looked towards the male next to her and smiled. “This is, David Washington.” He gave a nervous smile and Carolina turned back to look at the group. “But you will refer to him as Head Detective Washington.” 

The officers in the room applauded, that was, all but Connecticut who gave a weak scowl and Carolina began to speak again, effectively quieting the room down. “You’re dismissed.” She announced. 

And as quickly as the room quieted down, the noise began growing steadily once again to its casual busyness. 

“Huh,” Sarge mustered out, leaving Simmons wondering what his viewpoint on the whole situation was. 

Because he wasn’t expecting this Washington guy either. He figured York or CT would be announced Head Detective and then he’d have to become closer friends with one of them, but this new guy changed things. Not by much. In fact, it might have made things easier. 

Unless he wasn’t the type of guy to play friendly. Maybe he was some badass, crazy person who was going to make their job a hell of a lot more difficult. 

On the bright side, if he was a fucked-up crazy guy; Sarge and him would make a great duo.

Simmons was about to ask a serious question about it when Sarge finally spoke up. 

“Wonder if he’s Red or Blue.” He said, easing Simmon’s worry about Sarge’s _serious_ thoughts on the matter. 

“He looks like a Blue.” Simmons reasoned. 

“It’s the blond hair,” Sarge explained.

And Simmons agreed. 

He did look like a Blue.

They did eventually get to meet David because Carolina came up minutes later and introduced them, leaving Simmons confused on why she would introduce them personally and not everyone else.

“Sarge,” She greeted. “This is Detective Washington. He will be working on the Georgia case.” She stated. 

It didn’t make much sense because Simmons knew Sarge bugged the hell out of Carolina, so why formally introduce him to the new Head Detective? 

Sarge outstretched his hand and shook Washington’s as Carolina continued. “Which means you are to be officially off the case.” She reminded. 

And the reason comes out, Simmons concluded, coming to the realization that she just wanted Sarge out of the way.

Simmons noticed how Sarge paused and seemed to deadpan his expression before his brain finally caught up. “Will do, Chief.” He said with a smile. 

Carolina raised a brow at his willingness to put down his conspiracies. “That means no investigating, interrogating, or researching.” She stated, trying to determine if Sarge had found a loophole she didn’t know about.

Sarge nodded. “Got it.” He confirmed. 

Carolina squinted at him slightly before dropping the topic. “Good, I’ll send over some traffic cam work.” She said before turning and leaving with Washington at her side. 

Sarge watched as they walked away. “It only makes sense he’s a Blue,” He commented. “Since Chief is one too.” 

Simmons couldn’t help but agree with Sarge’s reasoning as he went through in his head whether or not a new officer would impact the mess they were trying to clean up.

He figured it wouldn’t, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was wrong. 


	6. Le détective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Washington <3

“I'm going to the scene of the crime.” 

Carolina looked up at him. “You won’t find anything,” She told him. “It’s been picked apart countless times.”

She wasn’t denying her brother’s ability, just knew that it was useful in other places. 

Wash shrugged. “Got to start somewhere,” He said. “Besides, I wanna get an idea of the area. It kind of looks like a drug exchange gone wrong.” 

Carolina thought about it for a moment. She believed this as well and was labeling the whole ordeal under that jurisdiction. She had even put in the request for a DA to swing by and take a look at the files. 

Even though the cartel they were following, never got violent; it was always a possibility. 

"Alright, be careful," Carolina told him. She wanted to make sure Wash was safe. But on the other hand, she asked him for help; she wasn’t going to start holding him back now. 

Wash nodded before leaving the room. 

He reckoned he should get started right away. If Carolina asked him for help, he knew she needed it and he always had been a ‘get straight to the point kind of guy’. 

He also may have wanted to impress Carolina. 

He’d always looked up to her. Since they were kids, living in the same foster home. 

David was just glad to get the chance to show her what he was capable of. 

Washington shut the door behind him, passing by a male with light brown hair, paying him no mind until the male stopped and backtracked, walking up to him. 

“Hey, man?” He greeted, catching Wash’s attention. “You’re the new head Detective, right?”

David nodded, extending a hand. “That I would be. David Washington.”

The man smiled, shaking his hand. “York." He introduced. "Lina said you were her foster brother?”

Washington raised a brow. “She did, huh? You guys must be close then.”

Carolina didn’t talk much about her past. The only reason Wash knew about it was because he lived it with her. The only other way anyone could find out would have to be if she told them. It was relieving, in a way, to find out she had opened up to someone about it.

York laughed. “She wouldn’t say that, but I like to think so.” 

Washington chuckled. “Does she know you call her Lina?” He questioned. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” York told him. “Lord knows, if she ever heard those words come out of my mouth, I’d be in for it.” He joked. “She's always been like that?” 

David nodded. “Since the day she was born.”

York laughed. “Right then, well, I got some documents to give her,” He said, raising a folder in his hand. “Wish me luck.”

Washington nodded. “Good luck.” He indulged as York walked away, down the hall to his sister’s office. 

David looked over his shoulder and watched as the man leaned flirtatiously on her doorway as he spoke to her inside. 

Wash chuckled, turning back to look down the hallway as he made his way out to his car. 

York better be careful.

Playing with fire, you’re bound to get burned. 

* * *

Church sat at the table, listening to Caboose yammering about something across from him when Tucker entered the kitchen-like area in the warehouse they were staying in. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything as Tucker opened the fridge behind him and pulled out a beer. 

He couldn’t get his mind off of Allison. 

Because it didn’t make sense. 

He had had complications in the past related to seeing things, but it was never as major as this. 

Just something that popped up every now and then later in the day. Just slight glimpses of things that he wasn’t sure were there. But, it was never like this. Before, he had been able to tell what was happening. Decipher between what was occurring in reality and his head. 

But this.

He wasn’t sure what this was. 

It felt so wrong and out of place and it was all so confusing. 

Because it could have been his imagination playing tricks on him. A mix of circumstance and delusions, but it couldn’t be. 

Because it felt too real. 

Not like before. 

This was tangible. 

“Hello, earth to Church,” Tucker called, waving a hand in front of his face. 

Church snapped out of his thoughts, looking up at Tucker with a scowl. “Jesus, what?”

“You alright there?” He asked.

Caboose paused his conversation and looked at Church with concern. 

Church looked between the both of them. “I'm fine,” He hissed. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

Caboose looked away and Tucker semi-shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “Like what?” He asked. 

“Like I’m crazy or something.” 

Tucker raised a brow, lowering his beer. “Well, are you?” 

Church paused, taken back. 

Did this douche know something he didn’t? 

“Do you have something to do with this?!” Church snapped, out of the blue. 

Tucker frowned. “What?” 

“This.” Church reiterated. “What the fuck did you do to me?” 

Tucker placed his beer down and glared at him. “I didn’t do shit, Dude. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Church huffed, letting his head fall to the table.

“What did stupid Tucker do?” Caboose asked him.

“I didn’t do anything!” Tucker exasperated. 

Caboose sighed. “If you did not do anything, stupid Tucker, then Church would not be upset. He does not do that for no reason.” He stated. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tucker said with a laugh. “He does that all the time!”

Caboose looked away from Tucker stubbornly, causing him to frown. “Seriously, what did I do?”

“Nothing,” Church said quietly. “I’ll figure it out myself.” 

Tucker paused and shifted uncomfortably. What did he mean he’d figure it out? What was so wrong with him that he couldn’t just tell him? “Are you gonna be ok?” Tucker asked, unsure of what to say. 

Church nodded, getting up out of his seat. “Yea, I’ll be fine. Caboose and I are going for a walk.” 

“We are?” Caboose asked, before smiling. “I mean, yes! Yes, we are.” He said excitedly, quickly getting up from his seat. “I will get my shoes.”

Tucker watched as they left the room, feeling guilty for something he knew nothing about and didn’t even do. “What the fuck?”

* * *

“You missed a spot,” Kai remarked with a grin as she twirled a brown curl around her finger. 

Grif looked up at her from his spot at the sink. “I will push you off that damn bar table.” He threatened, no real venom in his voice as he returned to the sink, washing another glass. 

Kai gasped. “You would not.” 

Grif only chuckled in response. “You wanna bet?” 

Their relationship with each other had always been close and playful. To out lookers, looking in, it’d seem as though they hated each other when in reality teasing each other was just how they showed love.

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while as Grif continued bartending and Kaikaina watched over the bar. 

“So….” She drew out a few moments later. 

Grif sighed. “What do you want, Kai?” 

Kaikaina turned towards him and bit her lip. “So, basically a few friends and I were wondering if it would be ok for us to go visit the old house?”

Grif paused and lowered the cup in his hands to stare at her. “You mean the house we grew up in and were trapped in for years, not able to leave or speak to anyone?” 

Kai nodded. “Yea, it’ll be fun. We’d go at night so it’d be extra spooky.” She said excitedly.

“No.” 

“Why not?” Sister whined. 

“Because it’s a terrible idea.” Grif snapped. “For one, the building is probably close to collapsing, two; it still has all our old shit in there which absolutely raises questions, and three; our identities are supposed to be secret.” 

Kai rolled her eyes. “You’re so lame! Two of those reasons were the same thing. And this is so stupid.” She said with a huff. “Why can’t I tell anyone? Your powers are awesome. We could be making money off this shit!” 

“We can’t afford the attention.” Grif reminded her, as he always did. “If people found out, we’d be tracked down and studied. Just like the Director did to us.” 

Kai frowned as Grif continued. 

“Remember that? You don’t actually want to go through all that bullshit again, do you?” 

“No.” Kai mumbled, knowing she’d lost the argument. 

“Good.” Grif concluded, returning to his dishes. 

He felt kind of bad Kaikaina couldn’t live a normal life where she included the people around her in her family and childhood memories and homes. 

He felt bad that he had to tell her no. 

But, he had to. 

It was just too risky to say yes.

He glanced over at her sad complexion and sighed. “Cheer up.” He said with a smile. “We’ll find something equally as scary you can do with your friends.” 

Sister smiled. “Oki.” 

* * *

He knew the probability of finding anything in the alley, that had previously been picked apart by dozens of trained, and according to Carolina, some not so trained professionals was, very slim. 

But, as he said earlier. 

He had to start somewhere.

And for Lina’s sake, he really wanted to. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she needed help. Because trust him, growing up, she never asked for anything. Not once. 

It was quite the opposite really. The fact that she even called him was amazing and shocking and so he’d definitely drop everything to come see her. 

Life back in his state wasn’t exactly picture perfect either. He had a decent job, but it was just the same day over and over. And while he normally liked routine, he was beginning to drive himself crazy with his mundane lifestyle. 

Stepping into the empty alleyway, he began looking around. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but he supposed he was expecting that. 

It would be more beneficial to get a look at the surrounding buildings and terrains.

There was an apartment building to his left and an unidentified building to his right. Across the street and at the exit of the alleyway, trees blocked out the sun followed by more skyscraper-like buildings. 

The sidewalks were cluttered with tons of-

“HEY!”

Wash looked up to the sound as he saw a can come flying down from one of the apartment windows above him. Easily moving aside to dodge the flying can, he looked up at the window to see an older woman looking quite angry. 

“YOU BETTER GET OUT-” She paused, squinting, as she adjusted her glasses and got a better look at Washington. 

“Awe, damn.” She cursed. “You're too old to be who I'm after.” 

David raised a brow. “Who are you looking for?” He asked, calling up to her. 

The lady dismissed him, waving a hand as she leaned on the windowsill. “Aw, you can’t help me.” She degraded. “ ‘Less you're a cop, there ain’t nothing you can do.” 

Wash picked up the stray can and straightened his stance. “I am a cop, who are you looking for?” 

The woman smiled. “Wait right there.” She demanded, leaving the view of the window. 

David shrugged to himself and tossed the loose can in a nearby trash can as he waited. 

Might as well right?

He wasn’t one to leave someone who may have needed help.

The old lady limped out of the apartment complex a few moments later, keeping herself steady with a cane. “Come here,” She called, waving him over to her. “For years I've lived in this shithole.” She explained as they walked into the building. 

“No offense Andy.” She added, looking over at the uninterested man behind the lobby counter. 

“Don’t worry about it, Gladius.” The man said dully as he flipped the page of the magazine in front of him.

“He’s a doll,” Gladius said with a grin as she led him to the stairs and they began walking up, Wash keeping one hand on Gladius’s back whenever she struggled to keep balance. 

“And in all my years of living here,” She continued. “I ain’t ever seen as much mischief going on in that alley-way than I have in the past few weeks.” 

“What kind of mischief?” Wash questioned as they made it to the top of the staircase. 

“Vermin!” The old lady exasperated. “Pure vermin!” She spat, stopping in front of a door, David could only assume was her apartment as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “A bunch of teenage dirtbags, of course.” She muttered. “Those damned kids are the reason I can’t get a good night’s sleep!”

She opened the door after some resistance and stepped inside, waving Washington in. 

David walked into the room, noticing the smell of cats and an abundance of newspapers and VCR tapes stacked in high piles throughout the apartment. “Always up at crazy hours of the night, knocking over trash cans, spraying that damn graffiti and hootin’ and hollering!” Gladius sneered walking over to a dusty computer. "Those children weren't raised right." 

“I can definitely promise to keep an eye out.” Washington offered. 

“No need,” The lady grinned, powering on the computer. “I think I finally caught one of the bastards on tape.” 

Washington nodded, walking over to her and looking at the computer. “I can put a warrant out for the vandalism and loitering if you’d like.” 

The lady put in a tape and smiled at him. “That’d be lovely.” She said, playing the tape. 

The video staticked black and white for a moment before it began playing clearly. 

Gladius grumbled, rewinding the tape before stopping it abruptly. “There!” She announced, pointing at the group of teenagers on the tape. “And look! They’re smoking the devil’s lettuce!” She barked, glaring. 

Washington was pretty sure what they were smoking were cigarettes, but she had caught them and they were vandalizing the area. That, David could get them for. “Alright, looks genuine.” 

The lady grinned. “Great.” She marveled. “Give the rugrats a scare for me.” 

Washington nodded. “Will do,” He stated, noticing the dating of the video. 

Looked like it was taken only a day or so ago. 

“How long have you been recording that alleyway?” Washington questioned. 

“A few weeks,” Gladius told him. “You best believe I ain’t taking the cameras down though if that’s what you're getting at.” 

“Not at all,” David muttered. “Can I see a few of the other tapes?” He then asked, looking over at her. 

“Sure,” Gladius told him. “Tapes are ‘ver there.” She said, nodding to a pile of cassettes on the coffee table in the middle of the room. 

Washington nodded, walking over to the stack and carefully shuffling through to the date he was looking for. 

“You want a drink or something?” 

Washington shook his head, pulling out a film from the pile and walking over to the computer as he pulled out the one inserted and tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll make sure those kids don’t bother you again.” He told her playing the tape he had selected. 

Gladius nodded, pushing aside a pile of newspapers as she sat on the couch. “Good,” She muttered. 

Washington watched the screen as the video played. The date dating back to the day of the massacre. He watched a group of people enter and leave and then-

Holy shit. 

It couldn’t be. 

David stared at the tape and rewinded it watching multiple bodies shift around. It was hard to see the people responsible and it was hard to tell something illegal was even happening if you weren't specifically looking for it. The tape was in black in white and most of the people were wearing hoodies and long pants. 

That was, all but two.

Washington paused the tape and studied the faces, looking towards the street. 

The tape may have been in black in white, but the extremely large male with shaggy hair and the shorter male with a scarred face and clean haircut was clear as day.

* * *

Simmons finished filling out his work for the day and walked down the, almost empty, hallway of the police station, before stopping at Sarge’s office. 

He knocked cautiously on the wooden door frame, before speaking up. “I'm uh, about to head out sir. Goodnight” He told him, as he did every day before turning to leave.

“Wait, Simmons.” Sarge stopped him, tinkering with some toy-like figure on his desk. 

Simmons looked over his shoulder and at Sarge. “Oh, that looks good, sir.” He said, ready to leave once again. 

Sarge looked up at him. “It does, doesn’t it?” He grinned. “But, no. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Simmons paused and looked over at him. “Oh,” He felt his anxiety spike and was afraid momentarily that he might throw up. “What is it?” He asked. 

He felt the need to look into the future, but stopped himself, knowing he might not like the news. “Am I getting fired?” He asked worriedly. 

Sarge laughed. “No way private.” He barked. “You’re getting promoted. Forgot to tell ya earlier.” 

Simmons paused. “I- what?” He asked, baffled. “I am?” 

Sarge nodded, looking back down at the green and red model on his desk as he began rearranging a piece on it. “Yea, Boss has been impressed with your work, told me to tell you the news. Congrats Detective, proud of ya.”

Simmons stood, shocked, at the doorway. He’d never thought he’d ever hear that title come out of Sarge’s mouth. At least, not directed at  _ him.  _

It was all he’d ever wanted. 

That title.

He worked so hard for it. 

He started as a volunteer, staying day and night, working overtime when he eventually was hired as an assistant and doing every single thing he was supposed to, and more, just for the chance to be able to have the job he always dreamed of having. To have that recognition from his superiors. That confirmation that he had done everything right. 

_ “...Congrats Detective, proud of ya.”  _

Bizarre words that he knew he’d cherish for the rest of his life. 

But, now that he heard them, he couldn’t help but feel he was still missing something. 

“That’s all.” Sarge dismissed. 

Simmons nodded. “Thank you so much sir, I won’t let you down.” He said, before leaving and heading out to his car.

He felt bad because he didn’t seem grateful enough. 

He just felt like he was missing something. 

This was what he wanted, right?

Simmons got into the car, shutting the door and sighing as he placed his hands on the steering wheel. He leaned his head back and let it rest against the back of the seat. 

It had to be too good to be true. 

What if it was?

Simmons sighed and closed his eyes, glimpsing forward in the maze that was his future timeline.

_.... _

_ Simmons opened his eyes, looking over at the police department.  _

Skip ahead, skip ahead. 

Concentrate. 

_...lifting up his phone… _

_...dialing the numbers… _

_...707....502...3334 _

_ “Hey, Grif,” _

_ “Yea, what’s up?”  _

Skip, skip, skip.

Get to where it all came crashing down. 

It had to come down. 

_ “Get your ass over to the warehouse.”  _

Glimpses of the future flashed through his mind as he navigated it. 

There was no way. 

It had to be too good to be true. 

There had to be something wrong. 

_ “Just be happy, ya suckup.”  _

If there wasn’t, then what was this feeling he couldn’t shake?

_ Simmons smiled. “Yea, you’re right.”  _

Simmons opened his eyes, looking over at the police department. 

“Ok, that's enough of that.” He mumbled, nausea rising in his stomach as he decided to reach for his phone. 

He dialed Grif’s number and held the phone up to his ear. 

He’d worry about everything all in good time. Probably suppress it now, talk to Grif about it later. Right now, he needed to pick up their cut from the warehouse.

But, he could tell he needed to get home instead. He wouldn’t be able to hold his handicap back much longer and he wanted to be home for that. 

“Hey, Grif?” 

“Yea, what’s up?” He heard on the other end. 

“Where are you right now?” Simmons asked, starting the car. 

“I’m at Kai’s bar.” 

“Can you stop by the warehouse and pick up the checks?” 

Simmons rolled his eyes as he heard Grif groan on the other end. “But that’s such a long walk.” He whined. 

“It's like ten minutes.” Simmons exasperated. 

“Ughhh, fine,” Grif muttered, done protesting. “Can you heat up the fish sticks in the freezer, then?” 

Simmons winced. “Oh god, don’t even mention food.” He muttered, feeling the familiar queasy feeling rise in his stomach. 

Grif laughed. “If you say so. You sure you don’t want me to pick up some cheesy lasagne or pizza on my way home?” He teased. 

Simmons groaned. “Seriously, stop it.”

“How about some greasy, deep-fried-” 

“I'm hanging up now!” Simmons interrupted, hanging up the phone. 

* * *

Church sighed, head planted in his arms on the tacky, too colorful for his liking, cafe tables Donut refused to get rid of. 

Caboose smiled happily, humming to himself as he colored on one of the napkins. “I am drawing Freckles.” He announced cheerfully. “But do not tell Cinnamon, because it is a surprise.”

It was later in the day. That’s when Church liked to come to the cafe. Later in the day, when it wasn’t so crowded and he could relax more without, as Donut put it, “scaring away his customers”

He could think better this way, despite the throbbing ache in his head.

“What can I get for you?” 

Church turned his head and looked up at a cheerful-looking girl with braces and long, brown ponytails. “Who are you?” He demanded. 

The girl’s smile didn’t falter as she replied. “I'm Katie, I work here and just wanted to let you know I can take your order whenever you’re ready.”

“I would like an orange juice, please, miss.” Caboose told her. 

“Where’s Donut?” Church asked. 

“The manager isn’t here right now, is there something I can help you with?” She replied.

“Just get him an orange juice.” Church groaned as he let his head fall back into his arms. 

“Please,” Caboose added. 

Katie nodded. “Will do. I’ll be right back.” She informed, walking away.

“You have to be very nice to her.” Caboose informed Church when she walked away. “Pumpkin Pie hired her which means she is very trustworthy.” 

“I told him not to do that.” 

To him, more people; more problems. 

The more people that got involved with them, the more they raised the risk of exposure. 

Tucker would agree, but he was also more social than Church, so he had some empathy for close friends. 

If it was up to Church, he’d grab Caboose, a bottle of tequila, buy two tickets to some island where there were no people, and never look back. 

“Oh, look.” Caboose pointed out, towards the front counter. “It’s Mr. Cop man.”

Normally Church would pay no mind, but the word ‘cop’ caught his attention as he lifted his head up to look towards the counter. 

It was just their luck that the new head detective was becoming a regular at the Doughnut-Hole. Just their fucking luck. 

Church knew it was a stupid idea to let Donut open a cafe. Now they were going to have cops and detectives up their asses and in the area buying coffee and-

Only then the detective pulled out his badge and Church heard him ask the words. “May I speak to Franklin Donut?” 

And that’s when he knew it was time to get the fuck out of there.

“Pack up your crayons.” Church mumbled. 

Caboose frowned. “But, I’m not done colo-”

“Caboose!” Church hissed quietly. “Get your damn crayons, we’re leaving.” 

Church then stood up from his seat and moved around the back of the cafe as Caboose scrambled after, shoveling crayons into his pockets. “But, what about my orange juice?” Caboose whispered. 

“We’ll get you another one.” Church mumbled, opening the door and leaving the building with Caboose. 

Washington looked back as he heard the doorbell jingle, quickly looking back to Katie. 

“Nevermind.” He told her. 

* * *

Church glanced behind him, cautiously, at the cafe, before nudging Caboose. “Faster idiot, it’s getting dark.” 

“Why did we have to leave?” Caboose asked, speeding up his pace to catch up with Church. “Was it because that lady was not Donut?” 

Church shook his head, taking Caboose’s hand in his own as he looked both ways down the street before crossing. “No. There was just a bad guy there. A really bad guy that was trying to hurt Donut.” 

Caboose nodded, frowning. “Did you want me to get rid of the bad guy?” He questioned. 

Church dropped Caboose’s hand, coming to the curb. “Not yet,” He told him. “But, you know we can’t let the bad guys hurt people.” 

Caboose nodded. “We can not. As the heroes, that is our job.” 

“That’s right.” Church told him. 

“Where are we going now?” Caboose asked. 

“Back to the warehouse.” Church informed him. “We can’t let Donut go into work tomorrow. Not when there are bad guys after him.” 

Caboose nodded. “I see. We are warning Danish. Then we will get rid of the bad guy.” 

“Precisely.” Church confirmed, turning the corner near the warehouse and looking around him before coming to the door and opening it, holding it out for Caboose as he stepped in. 

“BUTTERCUP!!” Caboose called loudly the moment he walked in. 

Church rolled his eyes, stepping in after him and shutting the door. 

“Lower your voice!” Tucker yelled back, perched at the top of the staircase leading to all the bedrooms as he leaned on the rail, looking down on them. 

Church sulked in, following after Caboose as he looked up and glared at Tucker. 

Tucker glared back, standing up straight and walking down the steps. 

“Candycorn!!” Caboose yelled again, slightly quieter this time. 

“I’m right here, Caboose.” Donut said cheerfully, following after Tucker down the steps. “How was your walk?” 

“Oh, it was very very nice, Church held my hand and then-” 

“Awe, so sweet of him.” Tucker teased, earning another glare from Church. 

“Yea, yea. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever.” Church interrupted. “What is important is that your little buddy-cop friend is looking for you.” 

Donut frowned. “Oh, no. What’d I do this time?” He asked worriedly. 

Church was about to speak up when the door behind him burst open in a violent force. Stumbling back near Tucker, he backed away from the door, pulling Caboose with him. 

“Everybody freeze!” The blond detective they had seen in Donut’s cafe earlier demanded, one foot planted steadily behind him for support and both hands holding up his gun as he cocked it. 

This guy was serious business. 

Serious creepy business. 

“Did you fucking follow us?!” Church snipped “You're a damn maniac.” He kept rather calm considering the circumstances. 

This was understandable because any one of them could knock that Detective guy out in a moment, without giving it a second thought. 

It was just a matter of doing so. 

Not meaning they wanted to. It was always a hassle to cover up loose ends whenever they got caught or were suspected of something. 

“Who the fuck is he?” Tucker asked Church, brow raised as he stood at a comfortable, unalarmed stance. 

“The bad guy.” He heard Caboose whisper as he glared at the detective. 

“My name is Head Detective David Washington.” The man announced, glaring at the group. “Now stay where you are, slowly put your hands up and get down on your knees.”

Tucker grinned, laughing to himself. “Bow chicka bow wow.” He said slyly.

“I said, on your knees!” 

Church rolled his eyes. It was clear that Tucker would rather fuck around with the guy than make him turn around and forget what he saw. So, Church took it upon himself as he made a move to step forward, only before being stopped by Tucker who extended a hand in his direction.

“Relax, I got it.” He eased, before looking over to David.

“What are you doing?” Washington demanded, placing his finger carefully over the trigger of his gun. 

Washington watched as the dark male stared at him for a second, almost as if he was studying him. Suddenly the dark tone man stopped abruptly and opened his eyes wide, seeming quite shocked. “Uh oh.” He muttered. 

What the fuck was with these people Wash thought to himself.

He was armed, with a loaded gun, and they were defenseless criminals arguing _while_ there was a gun to their heads. 

“What do you mean uh-oh?” Church hissed, giving him the side-eye. 

Tucker looked baffled as he stared at the detective and shook his head slowly.

“I said hands up!” Washington yelled, his patience running out quickly. 

Donut and Church both looked over at Tucker, in shock, as he slowly began to put his hands up. 

“Did the scary thing not work?” Caboose asked quietly.

Church groaned. “That’s it-”

“All of you, shut up!” David commanded. “Hands and knees, now, or I will shoot-” 

Those were the only words he got out before feeling a sharp pain in the back of his head and seeing black. 


	7. Adieu la pluie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO um, things are shaping up :)

“Hurry up.” A tall dark man demanded from the doorway. 

It was days like these that he wished he had picked a faster, less talkative partner. Maybe one that wasn’t so full of himself. Although, they had served to fit and work well together even in tough situations. 

He’d say opposites attract, but that implied attraction. 

It was more of a ‘he made the demands while his partner demanded them’ type situation. He stayed quiet and in the shadows while his partner was the people person. 

The opposite thing gave them a large spectrum of abilities.

“Relax, Locus.” His partner snipped. “This is an easy fucking job and we don’t even have to do it till tomorrow.” He looked up at him from the dirty couch, gun in hand with a grin. “It’ll be a piece of cake. Fucking assholes won’t know what hit em.” 

Locus looked down at him, unamused. “The car needs to be ready to go by tomorrow, Felix.” He told him for the billionth time “And I can’t work on it until you finish that.” 

Felix rolled his eyes, picking himself up off the couch and tossing his gun on a nearby table as he walked to Locus, smiling up at him as he held out the screwdriver in his hand. “Don’t let Siris break the damn thing.” 

Locus watched Felix begrudgingly as he collapsed back down onto the couch, pulling a cigarette and a lighter out from his pocket. 

“He’s our getaway driver from the bank for one night, and then you’d don’t have to work with him again,” Locus told him dryly. “Be civil.” He growled as he walked away, heading towards the garage. 

Felix chuckled, lighting the cigarette in between his fingers as he took a long drag from it. “Civil?” He thought amusingly to himself. 

Did Locus even know him?

* * *

“What the fuck was that?” Church screeched, directed at Tucker, who was sitting on the countertop, chewing on his nails anxiously and staring down at the floor. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbled. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Church yelled back, fire just begging to shot out from his fingertips.

“Church,” Donut eased softly, trying to calm him down. “Give him a minute.” 

Church gave Donut the side-eye, but backed up anyway, not wanting to aggravate him. 

Tucker sighed, snapping out of his thoughts as he looked up at them. “I don’t know.” He reiterated, confusion clear in his voice. “I’ve never had this problem before, normally I can do it.” He stressed before his frown turned into a sly grin. “If you know what I mean. Bow Chicka Bow Wow.”

“Why didn’t it work?” Church asked, rolling his eyes. 

Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know. I used my magic as I always did, but when I went to look into his head, I couldn’t.”

“Maybe there was just nothing there?” Donut suggested. 

Tucker shook his head. “No, that’s not what happened. If that were the case, I would have seen that nothing, but this was different. I _couldn’t_ get in.” Tucker exasperated, mumbling out a quick and quiet, "Bow chicka bow wow."

“Enough with that.” Church groaned, his agitation clear. “What did you try to get him to do?” 

“Lower his gun,” Tucker told them.

“You probably just did it wrong.” Church quickly snipped, pointing an accusing finger at him. 

“Did what wrong?” Grif asked casually, walking into the room. “Which, by the way, your detective is restrained,” he added. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for all your help, Grif,” Church praised sarcastically, waving a hand his way. “Now we’ll be charged for murder and knocking out and kidnapping an officer.” 

Grif glared at him. “I said you’re welcome.” He reiterated. 

“Thank you, Grif.” Donut told him genuinely. 

“Why’d you have so much trouble with the guy anyway?” Grif asked. 

“Because Tucker can’t mind control right.” Church informed. 

“I can too!” Tucker protested loudly. “I'm telling ya, something’s off with the guy. I couldn’t do it.”

“You couldn’t use your magic on him?” Grif questioned. 

Tucker nodded. 

It was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. He knew he was doing everything right, it just wasn’t working. It was the most frustrating and confusing thing he had ever felt. He never would have thought something so simple could humble him so quickly. 

He was quiet right after it happened too, his mind not being able to come to terms with the absurd occurrence and wrap his head around what had happened. It was just so unreal. He did everything right. It should have worked. 

But it didn’t.

Why didn’t it?

“Maybe he’s immune.”

Church groaned. “Enough of this immune bullshit. Just you watch, I’m gonna go in there and set his fucking toes on fire.” He grumbled, storming out of the room.

Grif and Tucker both looked towards each other.

“Dude, we gotta see that. Tucker grinned as he hopped off the counter and they both followed him. 

Donut sighed. “Church, don’t be cruel.” He chastised, following after all of them. 

Church barged into the small sectioned off room, they used to store stuff. His shoes noisily his the hard floor as he crossed his arms over his chest, glancing towards Caboose who sat seated on the floor in front of the chair Grif had helped Caboose tie Washington to. 

“And then me and Church got rid of all the bad guys,” Caboose said cheerfully to a passed out Washington as he remained motionless on the chair. Caboose's smiled quickly faltered into a snarl however as he leaned closer to Washington. “Just like we are going to do to you.” He finished darkly.

“He can’t hear you, dumbass.” Tucker reminded, following Church into the room. “He’s unconscious.”

Caboose let out a quiet “oh,” as Church pushed by him and nudged him away from the chair. “Move, Idiot.” He demanded, kneeling in front of the chair so he was at eye-level with David. “Wake the fuck up!” He yelled, earning some shifting from David in response. 

When David did wake up, he glared, looking around the room at the abundance of people. He instantly felt tight bouts of duct tape tightly securing his hands behind the wooden chair he was on as he then tugged at the restraints, testing their durability. 

At that moment, there were a few things he gathered quite quickly. 

One; whoever these people were, they wanted him alive. Or else they would have killed him already, and two; they were amateurs. 

That was obvious by the fact that Wash could feel all his belongings still in his individual pockets, meaning he wasn’t searched, and by the fact that he wasn’t gagged. 

David kept quiet for a moment, curious about what these people wanted and what their motive was. He wouldn’t give off any unnecessary information so it was safe to stay silent momentarily. A man wearing black glasses kneeled in front of him, looked him up and down studying him. 

“Watch this,” He grinned looking back to the people observing behind him. 

He felt like a caged animal being observed a the zoo. 

Everyone's eyes were on him curiously as he had no choice but to remain still and take it.

The man then pushed his glasses up over his nose and backed up slightly, holding his hand out under the chair for a second before pausing.

The dark-toned man by the door laughed after a minute when movement didn't continue. “What’s wrong, Church?” He teased. “Can’t get it up?” 

The man in front of him, Church right? scowled and dropped his hand. “Shut up.” He hissed, extending his hand once again. “Just- give me a second.” 

David really wanted to ask what the hell they thought they were doing. 

Instead, he extended a foot and swiftly kicked the man in front of him; the sole of his hard shoe, hitting the front of the other man’s face. 

Church hissed and backed up, clutching his nose. “Fuck!” He screeched. 

Wash just smiled to himself as he watched blood trickle down the man’s nose. 

They should have tied his legs to the chair. 

“You motherfucker!” Church cried, holding a hand over his nose as the cafe owner, he knew as Donut, ran out of the room. Probably to get paper towels or something. 

Church glared up at him as the larger, scruffy male that was always with him rushed over and attempted to help. Church brushed him off, getting up and following Donut out the door, accompanied by the much larger male.

The dark-toned man by the door looked over at the man next to him in the Black hoodie and they both began laughing. 

“That was fucking awesome, dude!” The dark-toned man laughed, walking over to a table and grabbing a roll of duct tape.

David could hear the man walk behind him and sense him as he kneeled just below the chair and began tying his legs down to the chair leg with the duct tape. 

Took them long enough. 

“Maybe he’s like us.” The chubby male by the door shrugged. 

“Don’t be stupid, Grif.” The dark male said, standing up and walking around and in front of the chair, taking a glance back at Wash as he did. “Well, maybe.” He decided with a lingering stare. 

David returned his gaze with a dark frown, glancing away behind him to get a better look at his surroundings as he saw a table close behind him with a toolbox and some scattered metal items. 

“Hey, crazy-guy?” Grif called, catching his attention. “You got a handicap?” 

“You people are insane.” Washington spoke through gritted teeth, quickly looking back at them. 

The dark male chuckled. “Not us, just Simmons.” He joked, receiving a weak glare from Grif.

“I’m going to go make fun of Church,” Grif said, rolling his eyes at Tucker’s comment as he turned around to leave the room. “Have fun with him.” 

The dark man frowned, walking over and leaning against the wall. 

Although these people weren’t smart, they definitely weren’t stupid. 

They knew better than to leave Washington alone. 

And although the man in the room with him didn’t look buff or much of a challenge, he still seemed more strategically put together than the others. 

Which...really wasn’t saying much. 

These people didn’t seem to have weapons on them. They weren’t strong. They didn’t have scars or muscles and didn’t seem to have that much intelligence based on the fact that they all had the vocabulary of a 4th grader.

So what the fuck was their deal?

“Haven’t seen you around here before.” The dark-toned man said casually as he leaned against the back wall. 

The man in front of him was good-looking, to say the least with his dark tone, green eyes, facial features, and build that, with the right training, could prove to look really good. He was obviously cocky and immature just based upon the way he carried himself. 

Washington stared at him, not responding. 

The man paused, unamused that David wasn’t amusing him. 

“What's wrong?” The guy said with a smile. “Mouth too full of cock to get a word out?” 

David rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” He groaned, breaking his bout of silence as he tested his restraints once again, feeling the back of the chair and the duct tape keeping his hands tied up.

The man smiled. “Nope, just Tucker.” He joked. 

Washington nodded, stretching his hands as much as they could to see if he could reach into his back pockets. “David.” He introduced for the second time, attempting to keep the person in front of him distracted as he felt the tip of his finger hit the hilt of his back pocket.

“That's lame.” Tucker degraded. “What'd you say your last name was?” 

David looked up at him, raising a brow as he felt the rim of his pocket and could feel the chain of his car keys near the top. “Washington.” He answered. 

Tucker smiled; a nice sight that would look a hell of a lot better under different circumstances. “Kay, Wash then.” He said, smiling as he uncrossed his arms. “Don’t mind Church, he’s an asshole.” 

Wash nodded. “I noticed, you all like that?” He questioned, thinking he was doing a pretty damn good job of distracting him as he slightly gripped the end of his keys, only to have them slide off his finger and back into his pocket. 

Tucker shrugged. “Pretty much, I’d get used to it if I were you.” 

“That implies your planning on keeping me,” Washington informed. “You know there’s an actual pet store two blocks down the street, right?”

Tucker laughed, genuinely laughed at his joke as he let his guard go down a little (as if he ever even had it up). “I’d rather have you.” He said with a smile. 

“You are infuriating,” Wash commented, speaking extra loudly to muffle the noise of him wrapping his fingers around the chain of his keys once more as he effectively pulled them up and out of his pocket. 

“That’s what makes me so lovable!” Tucker told him with a grin.

Washington scoffed, smiling as he let his eyes glance towards the door. “You’d be so much more loveable if you didn’t go around kidnapping people.” He replied, turning his car key around in his hand as he pressed the sharp end against the duct tape and began slowly sawing it with the key. 

Tucker shrugged. “We were going to let you go.” 

“Were you now?” Washington questioned, looking back at him. “What’s stopping you?” 

He could definitely take this guy Wash thought to himself as he continued sawing, getting through a layer of duct tape. 

Washington figured they had to have placed his gun around there somewhere, he just needed to get out of this chair, use his phone to call for backup, and then find it. 

“There’s something off about you,” Tucker told him, causing Wash to halt his sawing and look up at him. Tucker looked towards the door, thinking through his words before looking back to Wash. “Let’s just say you're immune to my charms.” Tucker told him with a wink.

Wash continued sawing. “Your charms?” He questioned. 

“My magic.” Tucker explained. 

Wash stopped sawing and laughed, scoffing as he did. “Is that some sort of innuendo oooor?”

David waited for the man to grin at him and make some sort of sexual joke like he had been the entire fucking time, but he didn’t. Only looked at Wash with a neutral expression as he nodded. “No, I mean magic.” He reiterated. 

Washington raised a brow. “What are you crazy or something?” He questioned. 

Tucker shook his head. “That’d be easier for you to believe, wouldn’t it?” 

Washington rolled his eyes as he continued sawing, making his way through the last layer of duct tape. The tape slid off and he easily and slyly caught it with his fingertips before it could fall to the floor, alerting Tucker. “You’re insane.” Wash told him as he let the duct tape drop to the floor. 

Washington stood up abruptly and grabbed the chair behind him as he did, picking it up and tossing it towards the back wall where Tucker was. 

He obviously got the sneak attack advantage because Tucker looked shocked as all hell as he bolted out of the way. 

Washington moved around the back of the room, grabbing a crowbar next to the pile of tools he saw earlier when the door at the end of the room burst open and the man that he had kicked in the face emerged, obviously surprised to see him. 

Washington held up the item in his hand when he noticed the man; Church, weaponless. 

Church’s eyes opened wide as he immediately pulled his fists out of the pockets of his hoodies. 

Now here was the thing, David had always been the type of person to make predictions based on facts and evidence. 

It was the reason he was a good detective. 

He didn’t believe in anything unless it was proven to him. 

He wouldn’t believe in love until he met someone that could make him feel it, he wouldn’t believe in ghosts unless he saw them himself, he wouldn’t believe in God until he could go to heaven and see him for himself, and he wouldn’t believe in magic until someone showed it to him. 

That was his list of things that he believed too ridiculous to be true. 

His list changed when Church pulled his hands out of his pockets and glared furiously at David as flames emitted from his palms. 

Wash paused, eyes wide as he dropped the item in his hand. 

Normally when it came to a point of fight or flee, he fought, but here he stood; frozen in fear and confusion as he stared at the red and orange fire erupting out from this person’s hands. 

Church smiled at him and opened his hands moving them forward a bit as the fire quickly spread across the room in a straight guided line, heading straight first for David Washington. 

It happened so fast and Wash was still too stuck in frozen mode to do anything about it, except to cross his arms in an X in front of his chest, in order to guard himself as he was taught in the force and shut his eyes closed, feeling the heat seep closer to him. 

He only opened them again when he realized the flames had died out before they hit him. 

Wash looked up at Church, taking a moment to catch his breath as he saw the confused look on the man’s face. 

“What the fuck?” Church mumbled, looking at his hands, before quickly looking over at Tucker, who was pulling himself up at the floor. 

“Why can’t I hurt him?!” Church screeched, looking at Tucker. 

Tucker shrugged and looked over to Washington. 

And suddenly everyone was looking at Washington and he felt less of a desire to kill them or call for backup or escape because now he was confused. 

Now, he wanted answers. 

* * *

Grif rubbed his tired eyes, pushing the door open to Simmon’s and his apartment as he lazily kicked it closed when he walked in. 

He then wandered over to the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights as he glanced over to the remote on the living room manor and, deciding it was too far away for him to even consider getting up to get it, reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of Marlboros he had in there. 

Grif singled out a cigarette and put the rest of the carton back into his pocket as he pulled out his lighter and lit the piece of nicotine wrapped in paper, bringing it up to his lips as the parchment burned. 

It wasn’t too late in the day and Simmons would probably work late, so Grif took it as his opportunity to smoke. 

However, he must have jinxed something by thinking he could get away with it because the second he blew a peaceful cloud of smoke into the room, the door to the apartment opened wide and Simmons stepped in. 

Grif shot up, quickly snuffing the cigarette into the arm of the couch and swallowing the puff of smoke in his mouth as he watched Simmons place his coat and briefcase on a nearby table. 

Simmons’s eye caught his own and he raised a brow. “What are you up to?” He questioned suspiciously, noticing Grif's quick and gaggled movements.

Grif shrugged. “Nothing.” He muttered, his voice cracking a little. 

Simmons raised his brow as Grif coughed, a small bout of smoke erupting from his mouth into the room. 

Simmons rolled his eyes, walking over to the couch and sitting down on it, leaning back against the back of the arm. “Don’t smoke indoors.” He chastised. “It’s gross.” 

Grif nodded. “Yea, yea. Won’t happen again.” He said smugly. 

Simmons paid him little to no mind as he let his head fall back against the couch. 

It was too early in the day for him to be experiencing his handicap, which meant something else happened. 

Grif was about to ask about it when he remembered to tell Simmons what had occurred earlier that day. 

“Oh shit, you’ll never guess what happened,” Grif said some-what excitedly, catching Simmons’s attention as he dully looked over at him. 

“What?” 

“That Washington guy followed Church and Caboose back to the warehouse and I-”

Simmons shot up. “What?!” He demanded. “He did? When? What happened?” 

Grif groaned. “Jesus, would you let me finish? He followed them back to the warehouse and then like the total badass I am, I knocked him out and restrained him.” 

Simmons raised a brow. “All by yourself?” He questioned skeptically. 

Grif shrugged. “Eh, Caboose helped, but don’t pay too much attention to the finer details.” 

“Is he still there?” Simmons asked. 

Grif nodded. “Yea, something happened actually. The guy is like fucking weird. Both Church and Tucker couldn’t use their powers on him.”

Simmons paused. “What? Like, he didn’t let them ooor…” He trailed off, hoping for an explanation. 

“They couldn't,” Grif reiterated. “Tucker couldn’t get into his head and Church’s flames dissipated before touching the guy.” 

“What about Caboose?” Simmons asked. 

“He couldn’t use his strength on him.” Grif scoffed. “You should have been there. Caboose had the strength of a normal fucking human when he touched the guy.” 

Simmons looked down, thinking through his interactions with David. “That’s strange.” He mumbled. 

“Church was wondering if you could see into his future or something. Maybe the past even. You know, see if you can see why he’s like that?” Grif explained. 

Simmons nodded. “I’ll have to check it out then.” He muttered, fiddling with his tie as tugged it off lightly.

Grif sighed, looking away before glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Alright,” He complied. “What’s wrong?”

Simmons looked up at him. “What? Nothing, why would something be wrong?” 

Grif rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out.” 

Simmons shrugged, pausing. “Sarge gave me a promotion to detective today.” He finally said. 

Grif raised a brow at Simmons as he continued staring off at a random spot in their living room. “That’s good.” He told him. 

Simmons nodded. “Yea, it is.” 

“Then what are you upset about?” 

Simmons sighed. “I don’t know,” He admitted. “I just, I don’t know.” He said quietly. 

Grif knew all about Simmon’s anxiety and his sucking up and all of it. A while after they got out of the Director’s house, Simmons got a job as an intern for the police station. He was so excited to be fighting crime and making a difference in the world. 

He tried so damn hard to be good at that job. 

Which was good, but in Simmons’s case, it was also a bad thing. 

After a while, with the concept of the outside world still new to them all, Simmons got really bad with his sucking up. 

Grif loved him, but he fed on praise and it got to the point where he would do a lot of things to get it. 

Including using his power to see what was going to happen. To check what he needed to know and what was going to be expected of him. He’d look into the future constantly, trying to do things that people were going to ask of him before they even asked him.

He used it so often that most of the time when Grif was with him, Simmons wasn’t. 

They’d sit in the living room, just like this and Grif would just watch as Simmons stared off, not noticing his existence as he sat there for hours looking into the future. 

It got really bad. 

And even worse when you added in the fact that the more Simmons used his power, the worse his handicap got. 

And Simmons’s handicap was downright disgusting. 

It seemed to be an odd one, but when you thought about it, having your head and sight in motion when your body wasn’t was the same way people got carsick; so it wasn’t really that odd. 

Eventually, Grif dragged his ass down to the hospital where he was admitted for a few days and had to check in with a specialist every week, of course not mentioning anything about powers or magic or anything else. 

So now it seemed odd that Simmons could be disappointed by the fact that he got a promotion.

“Guess all your kiss-assing really paid off.” Grif tried to joke. 

“Has it though?”

Grif frowned. “What do you mean?” He asked. 

Simmons turned to face him. “I mean, I should be happy about this.” He opened up. “You always joke about how hard I work just for recognition from a superior and it’s true. But today I got all of that and-” He paused. “I don’t feel any happier. I feel like I still need to do better.” Simmons glanced away from Grif, seeming slightly ashamed or embarrassed. 

Grif paused. He wasn’t always good in these situations. He never knew what to say to make the other person feel better. But this was sort of different because it was Simmons and part of him always wanted to tell him his next words. 

“You’ve always been a hard worker.” Grif agreed. “But, you put certain people on this invisible pedestal and I don’t know why you do that.” He confessed quietly. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Grif explained. “I know you're a hard worker and so does everybody else that meets you and I think  _ you _ just need to know that.”

Simmons nodded, contemplating his words.

He always thought he did things to please superiors, but then he realized; he did things like that to please himself. 

The recognition he got aided that. 

And when Simmons realized that, he came to the conclusion that if he was constantly trying to please himself by pleasing other people, then it would never be enough. 

All his life he’d been striving for this invisible goal and until that goal was truly for him, and not just other people, he would never reach it. 

Maybe Grif had a point. 

“Huh,” Simmons concluded. “You’re right.”

Grif laughed. “Is the smartass admitting that someone other than him is right?” He mocked playfully. 

Simmons smiled, rolling his eyes. “Don’t get a big head about it.” 

“Yea, yea.” Grif agreed, scooting closer to him and leaning back against the couch. “I picked up your check today, you can cash it into your stupid bank tomorrow if you want.” He said. “Don’t know why you insist on doing it that way.

Simmons nodded, knowing by that Grif meant he’d come with him. “I respect the foundation,” He remarked before pausing. “And um, you can tell Church I don’t need any more checks.” He then said quietly, waiting to see how Grif would react. 

It was something he had been contemplating for a long time and now that he got a promotion, he knew he had to do it. 

Grif raised a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Simmons paused. He wanted to best explain it so that he wouldn’t offend Grif’s or anyone else’s lifestyle. “I don’t want to continue doing dirty work for anyone or breaking the law or being the bad guy and I’m not saying that you guys are necessarily bad guys but,” 

“You’re rambling.” Grif pointed out. 

Simmons nodded. “Right well, I’ve got a really good job and I don’t want to risk losing it anymore.” 

“It was a risk before?”

Simmons looked over at him. “I never wanted to hurt people, Grif. We left the house and I kind of just got wrapped up into it because it was what all of you were doing.” 

Simmons paused, watching him and waiting for some sort of reaction. 

Grif noticed and scoffed. “Why would you let us get you wrapped up in that if that wasn’t what you wanted to do?” 

Simmons frowned. “Because I thought you wanted to do that.” He exasperated. 

Simmons never wanted to take part in any of the shit Church and Grif got themselves into and he tried to stay out of it for the most part. He always liked the idea of fighting crime and when he told Church, Church encouraged it because then they could keep an eye on what was going on in the police station. 

Part of Simmons always knew Grif would be accepting of his choice to leave whenever he wanted to or not, but there was still that divide between them. The one where Simmons chose to be responsible and work hard at his job, while Grif chose the easier path. 

“I didn’t think you would want to leave the warehouse and live a normal life or whatever,” Simmons concluded. 

“Of course I don’t want to do that,” Grif told him. “It sounds like effort.” 

Grif paused and Simmons noted how his pause specifically wasn’t a hesitation, but more of a gathering of words. “But if that's what you wanted to do,” Grif began saying. “Then I’d happily join you.”

“You would?”

“Of course, smartass.” Grif teased with a smile. 

Simmons smiled and closed the space in between as they kissed, noticing how the sun in the window had set completely.

Oddly enough, even though he had been using his ability that day, he realized that he didn’t have a hint of nausea. 

And for the first night in forever, he didn’t experience his handicap. 


	8. Le Fou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've got flashbacks next chapter <3
> 
> Thanks for everyone's support while I spit out chapters, It really means a lot to me :D

“Wake up, asshole.” 

Washington stirred, sitting up on the uncomfortable couch as he rubbed his eyes. 

It was way too early.

He groaned and rubbed at his back, hissing at the discomfort. 

“I told you that you could sleep with me in my bed.” A voice tossed his way; cocky and prideful. 

Washington blinked away the blurriness of the morning and looked towards Tucker, who was standing near the wall of the room he slept in. 

“You fucking wish.” He snipped back; the venom in his tone weak as his voice cracked from the early morning drowsiness. 

He hadn’t gone home after what had happened the other day. 

He couldn’t if he tried. The people there insisted he stayed, whether it was because they didn’t know if they could trust Wash yet; he didn’t know. Instead, he was forced to sleep on the couch in an enclosed room. 

A room with a large door that locked on the outside after he went in. 

He didn’t get any answers that night either. No one told him anything, even the dark-toned man he knew as Tucker who wouldn’t shut the fuck up about literally anything else. 

“Yea, yea. Save the formalities for later.” Church told him, taking a sip from the mug in his hand. “Get up.” He demanded, staring bullets into Wash as he raised a brow at him. 

It was a stare off for control until Washington reluctantly picked himself up off the couch. “What?” 

“You’re going with him.” Church stated, making the decision for him as he nodded over at Tucker.

“Where?” 

Church glared. “Wherever the fuck I want you to go.” He hissed, a look of disgust on his face as he took a sip of the dark liquid in his cup and turned around, mumbling something about Washington as he left the room. 

Washington looked down at the ground, clenching his fist and releasing it as he looked up at Tucker. 

Tucker smiled cheerfully at him and walked closer; almost skipping. “You get to hang out with me today.” He said happily, picking at a loose string on Wash’s shirt collar. 

Washington slapped his hand away, surprised when Tucker seemed unphased and lowered his hand. 

“Call it a date,” Tucker told him with a smirk. 

Washington rolled his eyes. “It never ends with you, does it?” He asked irritably, already knowing the answer was no. 

Tucker bit his lip and opened his mouth to speak when Wash interrupted him. 

“Don’t answer that.” Washington protested. 

Tucker shut his mouth. “Yes sir.” He winked. 

David rolled his eyes as Tucker walked near the exit door to the room; waving him on. 

“Can I take a shower first?” Wash questioned. 

“Hurry up!” Tucker called, leaving the room and turning the corner. 

Wash sighed, rubbing at his eyes as he jogged to catch up with him; rubbing his sleep-rugged face as he did, knowing he wouldn’t be given time to wash it properly.

“Where are we going?” Washington demanded to know as he followed Tucker down the steel staircase to the warehouse.

“You’ll see,” Tucker told him. 

Washington watched as Tucker led him to the door that he knew led out into the city. “You do know that once we leave, you won’t be able to stop me from running away?”

Tucker turned around at the door, stopping him from walking further. “Well, duh.” He agreed. “I already thought of that.” He informed childishly as he dug into his leather jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs. He looked up at Wash with a knowing smile as the handcuffs dangled from his finger. 

Washington raised a brow. “What are you going to do with those?” 

Tucker’s smile dropped and he unexpectedly pounced, grabbing at Wash’s arm as he slapped one end of the handcuffs over his wrist. 

“Hey!” David hissed as he attempted to pull away, only to back into a wall. 

Tucker rolled his eyes, pushing forward and using the wall to his advantage as he pressed his weight against Wash and put a hand on the side of the wall where Wash could possibly escape from. Using his other hand to tighten the cuff, he pinned his body against Wash’s. “Stay still.” He grumbled. 

Washington stood frozen, looking down at Tucker as he comfortably kept Washington pinned against the wall. His body was too close to his and his scent was strong in the enclosed room. He was so confident and shameless about it, surely he knew what he was doing. 

Washington stayed awkwardly still, not wanting to disrupt anything as he waited for Tucker to finish. 

It took a second, but Tucker eventually pushed off of him with an accomplished smile as he took the other cuff and slapped it onto his own wrist. 

Washington looked at the cuff attached to him and then at the opposite cuff attached to Tucker. 

He saw what he was doing now. 

“There!” Tucker announced, looking up at him; the space between them wider, but still close. “Now you can’t get away.” 

“I can’t believe you just cuffed me to you.” Washington spat, an odd look on his face. “You can’t just cuff me to you.”

Tucker scoffed. “Sure I can. I just did.”

Wash only gave him a confused look, because there was no way he’d get away with that. It wasn’t something that was common or socially acceptable. “People are going to ask questions.” Wash pointed out obviously. 

“No, they won’t.” Tucker deflected. “I’ll convince them it's normal, or make it so that they can’t see it. Or, you know, tell them it's a sexual thing. People don’t question that stuff.” 

Washington frowned. “Hell no. Uncuff me now.” He demanded. 

Tucker frowned back. “No way! Didn’t you just see how much effort that took me?” 

Washington glared irritably. 

When Tucker returned his gaze, unphased, Washington knew that the cuffs were not coming off.

“Fine.” He snarled through gritted teeth, pushing past Tucker and opening the door wide open, stomping out with a quick pace.

Tucker yelped, being dragged away with him as he struggled to keep up. “Slow down, douche!” He screeched, trying to pull on the cuffs to slow him down, but failing, and being pulled effortlessly along with Wash. “That’s not funny!”

Washington chuckled as Tucker tripped over himself, but couldn’t actually fall since he was cuffed to Wash and he was most definitely stronger than him and able to keep him up better. 

Wash abruptly stopped which did cause Tucker to trip, ably stopping himself before he hit the ground as he stood up straight; annoyed and out of breath. 

“That wasn’t funny!” Tucker exasperated, fixing the collar of his leather jacket. 

“It was kind of funny.” Washington mused.

Tucker grumbled, looking away from Wash and glancing down the street as he tugged at the handcuff and used his other hand to point. “Over there, we’ll take the bus.”

Washington raised a brow but followed as Tucker began walking towards the bus stop. “Just take your car.” He told him as if he was being drastically unreasonable. 

Tucker went quiet as they stopped at the blue and white stop sign, causing Wash to look at him funny. 

Tucker glanced away and when he could still feel Wash still staring at him, he looked back. “What?” He exasperated. 

“You don’t have a car do you?” 

Tucker turned away; his nose in the air as he crossed his arms over his chest, forgetting the handcuffs were there and pulling Wash closer to him. “I do.” He informed. 

Washington was jerked forward and quickly regained balance, stepping closer as he frowned. “Then take that.” He grumbled. 

Tucker didn’t look at him.

“You can’t drive?” 

It was quiet for a minute before Tucker scoffed. “No.” He pouted, looking at him. “Never learned.”

Washington laughed.

“Shut up,” Tucker mumbled, uncrossing his arms.

Washington laughed harder. 

“You done yet?” Tucker murmured, glaring at him. 

Washington’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m sorry,” He choked out between laughter. “How long have you been of age?”

Tucker rolled his eyes, watching as the city bus pulled up to the curb. “Come on Jerk.” He mumbled, stomping up to the stop and pulling Washington after him. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He eased, his laughter dying down. 

Tucker brushed him off, stepping on the bus with Washington as the large male seated behind the driver’s seat looked up at them. 

“Card?” The bus driver questioned, his voice rough. 

“Don’t got one.” Tucker replied. 

“Then 4$.” 

Washington watched as Tucker made direct eye-contact with the driver before digging into his pocket, pulling out nothing, and placing it in the cash box by the driver. 

The bus driver watched his every move and nodded. “Go ahead.” He affirmed, letting them on the bus. 

Tucker began finding a seat in the back as a confused Washington was forced to follow after. “What just happened?” He asked quietly as Tucker sat down, followed by Wash. 

Tucker looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The driver,” Wash stated. “You didn’t pay him. How did you do that?” 

Tucker scoffed. “I thought we’ve been over this?” 

Washington sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. 

He did, but it was a lot to take in and he didn’t even know anything about it yet. 

“No, we haven’t.” He hissed. ‘You haven’t told me anything besides the fact that magic exists.” 

Tucker thought about it for a second before readjusting his position so that he was facing Wash. “I can get into people’s heads,” He explained. “Alter what they’re thinking. How well it works depends on the effort on my part and how many mental walls I have to break through to get to their intimate thoughts.” 

Washington nodded. “So back there, the driver thought he saw you put money in?” 

Tucker nodded and Wash sighed. 

He was trying to wrap his head around it. 

He wanted to ask him more questions, but he didn’t know which one out of the thousands he should ask first. 

“And you were just born like that?” Wash questioned. 

Tucker shrugged. “I guess we all were.” 

“And you don’t know where it comes from?” 

“The Director knew,” Tucker told him, anger in his voice. A fit of anger that didn’t seem directed at Wash. 

“Who?” 

“When I was young-” Tucker paused, changing his words. “When me and the rest of the people you met at the warehouse were born, The Director gathered us up for almost all our lives. He experimented on us and made us practice our abilities. He knew everything about it. Had been studying it his whole life.” 

“What happened to him?” 

“He killed himself a few years ago. His partner, the guy he worked with and who watched us, ran away, and we were free to leave.” 

“Oh.” Washington looked down and fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. “How many of you are there?”

Tucker paused, thinking for a moment. “Well, you got Church, Grif, Simmons...Uh, 6 alive that we know of.”

“And dead?” Wash asked, looking back at him.

Washington watched as Tucker’s expression saddened and it became his turn to look away. “Well, Texas died a long time ago and Junior died about a year ago.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Wash said sympathetically. 

“It’s ok,” Tucker told him before looking towards the window. “Won’t be dead for much longer.” He assured. 

Washington froze and raised a brow a few seconds after Tucker had resumed staring out the window. “What do you mean by that?” He asked suspiciously. 

Tucker didn’t respond, leaving Wash fearful for whatever he had meant by his statement. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He finally said. 

* * *

Grif sighed, dragging his feet across the pavement and up the stairs to the bank. “Why don’t you just do this online?” He groaned, exasperating each of his movements as Simmons followed up the stairs after him. 

“Because this is safer,” Simmons repeated for the billionth time that morning. “I don’t trust my money in the hands of a machine.” 

Grif grumbled out a response as he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Simmons to open the bank door for them. 

“Ladies first.” Grif concluded when Simmons gave him an odd look as he opened the door and stepped in. 

The bank they went to was on the smaller side. Which meant sense for the city they lived in. The place had chipped paint, very few sitting areas, and couldn’t even afford security cameras. The main area was about the size of their living room and unluckily for them, it was the only bank in a forty-mile radius. Which meant that everybody in their town mostly went to the same bank. 

And by everybody, Grif meant all the old people and dumbasses who didn’t know how to deposit a check online. 

Grif followed Simmons further into the bank, stopping in the middle of the line as he did. 

He looked around the bank and narrowed his eyes as he saw a man near the front; a bullet wound between his eyes. 

Grif could tell he was dead and had been for quite a while, but he could also tell that his ability to defer from real life and the afterworld was failing him because the dead man kept flashing between looking alive and looking dead. 

Grif sighed, turning back to Simmons; not wanting to continue looking, knowing his ability was failing him. 

“How much longer?” He whined. 

Simmons rolled his eyes, looking at the line ahead of him. “I don’t know.” He told Grif. 

Grif slouched his shoulders and continued looking back around as Simmons glanced at his watch. 

It’d be really easy to figure out how much longer they would have to wait. 

All he’d have to do is look forward in time. 

Part of Simmons knew he probably shouldn’t, but this was a simple request and not for the advantage of his own unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

He knew he’d have to learn how to use his ability without going overboard and practice would help. 

Simmons closed his eyes for just a moment so that he could begin the process and then opened them again as imagery of the next few minutes began playing by in his mind like a video. 

_ Person steps forward, takes 5 minutes at the counter then walks away.  _

_ Person behind them coughs, Grif tells them to cover their mouth.  _

_ Someone to their right steps up on a counter, people look his way.  _

_ He pulls out a gun… _

He pulls out a gun. 

Simmons stopped the images and turned around, looking past Grif as someone walked up to the counter and the line moved forward. 

“Go.” Grif told him. 

Simmons looked back towards the front of the line and stepped forward. He took a pause and looked around him trying to find the guy with the black hoodie and dark brown and orange hair. 

He spotted him exactly where he thought he’d be. 

“Grif!” Simmons whisper-shouted to his boyfriend. “That man has a gun.” 

Grif’s eyes opened wider as he followed Simmons’s gaze towards the black-hooded man. He watched for a second and then looked behind him at the exit. “Let’s go then.” He concluded, taking a step towards the exit. 

Simmons grabbed his hand, effectively stopping his movements. “We can’t just let him shoot this place up.” He whispered frantically. 

“Yes, we can.” Grif exasperated, a disgusted look forming on his face as someone coughed behind him. “Ugh cover your mouth.” He chastised as the old man wiped his mouth. 

Something unsettling pooled in Simmons's gut as he stood frozen. 

_ Person behind them coughs, Grif tells them to cover their mouth.  _

_ Someone to their right steps up on a counter, people look his way.  _

_ He pulls out a gun… _

If Simmons was going to do something, he was running out of time. 

Grif raised a brow at him as he grabbed his hand. “What are you waiting for?” He asked him. “Let’s get out of here before bullets start flying across the place.” 

Simmons bit his lip. “We can’t just let that happen.” 

Grif’s expression went stern; sterner than Simmons had ever seen. “We can and we will.” He stated. “You know the rules, don’t be a hero.” 

Grif turned to leave, pulling Simmons along with him when Simmons suddenly stopped. 

He knew Grif didn’t want to put himself in danger. But, Simmons was a hero. His only purpose as a detective was to help the people.

Yanking his hand free from Grif’s grip, Simmons turned to look at the hooded man as he lifted one of his legs and stepped up onto the bank waiting room table. 

* * *

Donut yawned, pressing the door to his shop open. The bell rang quietly as he placed his bag on the front counter. 

It was not a purse no matter what Grif and Simmons said. 

It was a handbag, which was not girly at all. It was completely normal. How else was he supposed to carry all his valuables?

Donut reached over the counter and grabbed his apron which was hanging on the hook to the left of the register. He wasn’t actually as tired as he normally was, which was a blessing. The reason for the extra energy was actually because he was able to get much more rest that day because of the new intern. She really was a great help and even offered to open the shop, so he got an extra hour of sleep because of it. 

She was a little klutzy and nervous, but Simmons was Donut’s friend, so he was used to that occasionally. 

Donut pulled out his phone, ready to hook it up to the Bluetooth system the store had so he could play some music when he heard a crash from the back of the cafe. 

Worried, he made his way back there. “Is everything alright?” Donut asked peering into the room to find Katie over a pile of stuff near his office. 

“O-oh yeah,” She stuttered, stepping over something and picking it up. “Everything’s ok. I just ran into something.” 

Donut nodded slowly, looking around the small back room. There was a lot of his stuff back there and getting the store ready for opening didn’t really require Katie to be back in that room. “What were you doing over here?” He asked politely. 

Katie looked around a little, her eyes finally landing sheepishly on him. “Oh, I was just looking for something.” She admitted. 

Donut narrowed his eyes at her. “For what?” He questioned. 

Katie smiled, dropping her hands at her side. “A pen or pencil or something. Even a marker.” She paused, biting her lip. “I can’t find anything here sometimes.” She laughed nervously. 

Donut raised a brow, reaching back into his pocket, (and yes he noticed how that seemed to worry the girl), and pulled out a pen. He stepped forward and handed it to her. 

“There you go.” He said with a bright smile. 

Katie nodded, taking it from him. “Thanks.” She said, her lisp apparent and the red nervousness of her face dissipating as she turned to leave the room. “Sorry about that.” 

Donut smiled, staring at the pile of papers he had on his desk. “No problem!” He called back. 

Donut pouted, placing his hands on his hips as he inspected the stuff on his desk. It was misplaced, but only because Katie knocked it over. Nothing seemed to be missing. 

What was she really looking for? 

Donut glanced back and let that question wander through his mind. 

Come to think of it, Katie usually held an unprovoked nervousness around him. When he reached back into his pocket, it was almost like she expected him to pull out a gun. What if she had actually expected that?

Donut paid strict attention to her awareness of him throughout the afternoon and came to one conclusion by the end of it. 

She knew something. 

Donut could tell just by the way she asked him specific questions while they worked side by side. 

“Have you ever been downtown?”

“How many days a week do you work?” 

They weren’t suspiciously odd questions, but Donut knew sly interrogations or questioning when he saw it. The Director taught him that much. 

Donut noticed other things too. 

She never left her phone out around him or her stuff in his locker, as if he would steal it or something. She stayed within a distance of him as if he might hurt her. And she never told him anything about where she grew up or her family or anything that would give away her location. 

She was poking around and she was trying to find information. 

She knew something. 

* * *

“Is that it?” 

Tucker nodded, still in slight shock as mixed memories and emotions washed over him and he stared at the thing that ruined his life. 

It was the place that tormented him for years and left him and his friends in a lost world where they knew nothing. This. This was the place that broke him and trapped him in a life he couldn’t escape from. 

Tucker swallowed the lump in his throat. It took them an hour to walk from the nearest bus stop to the house where he grew up. Everything was all the same too. The black, curved fence rose over dead grass and steel rocks. The windows remained slightly cracked from years of kids clawing at them. It didn’t matter if they had even broken through the glass at the time anyway. There were thin, steel bars lining up the windows, preventing any further escape. 

The place looked like a castle, with a large fence gate and stories higher than the eye could go with the added stone-cold, dark bricks used for the walls. The backyard and trees could be seen towering over the house as shadows darkened the worst and scariest parts of it. 

Not to mention it was mid to late afternoon and the sun would be setting soon. 

It was creepy as fuck and Tucker’s feet stopped when they arrived, not wanting to move any further in. 

The last time he was there was when Church had found the Director dead in his chair; a bullet wound in his head. 

They took his key then and left. The Counselor had abandoned them a while before so there was nothing in their way anyway. Of course, Simmons made the smart decision of calling the police once they got the fuck out, so the body was no longer in the house. 

But knowing the Director, he was probably haunting the damned place. 

“Tucker!?” Wash shouted, snapping him out of his head. 

“Ugh, what?” Tucker snipped. “Don’t yell at me when you're that close.” 

“Are you ok?”

Tucker then took a moment to notice the amount of worry on Wash’s face. “Yea, why?” He questioned, confusion shining through his words. 

“You spaced out there for a really long time.” Washington informed, still looking at him like there was something wrong. 

Tucker dismissed him. “I’m fine. Uh, yea that’s the place.” 

“You grew up here?” Washington questioned, turning to look at the house.

“Yea, I did.” 

“Your family must’ve been pretty rich.”

Tucker raised a brow. “What? No dude. My family didn’t live with me.” 

Washington looked towards him. “What do you mean?”

And that’s when Tucker realized that Wash had very little idea what really happened. He guessed no one really told him. Tucker cleared his throat, looking towards the house. “My mom was a drug addict,” He started out saying. “She gave me up to the Director. The Director was the one who brought us all together and kept us in that house.” 

Washington’s face went solemn. “All of you? IN the same house? You mean Church, Donut, C-” He paused. “I thought he just trained with you.” 

“We weren’t an after school club or anything.” Tucker snipped. “We all grew up together in the same house.”

“Why?” 

“Because we had magic,” Tucker answered. “Or at least the Director assumed we did based on reports from family members and stuff.” 

“Wait.” Washington shook his head, disbelief coursing through him. “And you guys weren’t allowed to leave?”

Tucker nodded. “Up until a few years ago when the bastard shot himself.” He snipped, kicking at a stray rock on the ground. "Like I said," He reiterated. 

“I-” Wash paused, looking towards Tucker as he looked away. “I’m sorry that happened.” He finally said. 

“Tucker shrugged. “It's fine,” He muttered. “Let’s just go in.”

Washington nodded, glancing down at his restrained wrist. “Can I be uncuffed then?” 

Tucker looked up at the house and began walking. “Fuck No.” 

Washington sighed, reluctantly following behind him. 

The place was creepier on the inside that Tucker remembered. He guessed that just meant it was creepier when there weren’t kids skidding down every hall, laughing and playing. 

Tucker stepped into the house, wincing at the loud creaking noise the door gave off. He looked up and around and all the decor, including the chandelier, the weird statues at the front, and the maroon carpet. It was all as they had left it. 

Tucker pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, moving it around for Wash to see. 

“Where are we going?” Wash asked him suddenly. 

“I don’t know,” Tucker admitted as he began walking into the house. “I guess to find answers, but…” He shone the light near a corner of a room where papers were scattered and a table was knocked over. “I wanna check something out first.” 

Washington nodded, following him up a set of stairs as if he had any choice but to follow. His intrigue in everything was what actually kept him going. 

He was still trying to believe everything Tucker was telling him. It felt almost like a dream. Everything was so absurd, he thought he’d wake up any second now. 

But he didn’t. 

All of this actually happened and Tucker had the ‘magic’, eyewitnesses, and creepy old house to prove it.

“Here,” Tucker announce, reaching the top of the stairs and bolting towards a room, causing Wash to stumble to keep up. 

“Ow, ow, ow, hey!” Wash chastised as Tucker stopped abruptly in front of the door, tucking his phone into his back pocket as the light shining in from the windows was bright enough for them to be able to see. “I’m still handcuffed to you, remember?” 

Tucker smiled at the door, causing Wash to raise a brow. “Sh sh sh,” Tucker shushed him, reaching for the knob as he pushed the door open and stepped in. 

The walls inside the room were a bright teal and covered in posters of various slow rock bands. There were two beds as well. One queen-sized with the covers thrown sloppily over it and another one just a little bit smaller with a spaceship blanket neatly draped over it. 

Toys, various magazines, and crud scattered the room’s floor and the smile on Tucker’s face convinced him of one thing. 

“This is your room, isn’t it?” Wash asked. 

Tucker nodded. 

“Is that your kid’s bed?” 

Tucker turned to it and frowned. His frown quickly dissipated however as he stepped forward, pulling Wash along with him. “Yea, it is.” He said proudly. 

“How do you have so much stuff in here?” Wash questioned. 

“The Counselor bought us stuff,” Tucker explained. “Mainly when we were younger to get us to shut up.” 

Washington nodded. “Ok, then how do you have so many band posters on your walls?” 

“I liked music.” 

Wash paused. “Yea, but-” He stuttered. “How did you know about that?”

Tucker looked back at him and raised a brow. “We were complete cave people, Wash. We had radio and television.” 

“Oh.” 

Tucker rolled his eyes. “God, you’re such a dork.” 

Washington gasped. “Me?” He questioned. “You’re the one who can’t drive a car!” He exasperated. 

Tucker scoffed, stepping closer. “I guess you’ll just have to drive me around.” He declared; a gleam in his eye and a grin on his face. 

“Good luck stomaching my driving,” Wash quipped back. “I drive a stick.” 

Tucker smiled. “I got a stick you could drive,” He responded cockily. “Bow chicka bow wow.” 

Wash’s face went slightly red as he noticed just how little space there was between Tucker and him. He was about a foot shorter than him, but goddammit he was really close. So close, Wash could feel his breath against him and study the spots in his eyes. So close, he could probably lean forward and- 

A noise from downstairs caused Wash to whip his head around downstairs. “Did you hear that?” He asked quickly, stepping away from Tucker. 

“Dude, what the hell?” Tucker whined. “We were totally having a moment.” 

Washington glared back. “No, we were not. Did you hear that?” 

Tucker scoffed. “You don’t need to make some excuse to get away from me,” He grumbled. “I can be let down easy.” 

Wash rolled his eyes. “It’s not that. I actually heard something.” 

Tucker froze as a crash was heard downstairs along with violent yelling. 

“What the fuck was that?” Tucker screeched, stepping behind Wash as if something could pop out and attack him at any moment. 

Wash crouched down, bringing Tucker down with him. “Shhh.” He chastised quietly. “You’re going to give away our position.” 

Tucker laughed. “What position?” He exasperated. “Dude, we're crouching in teenage me’s filth. This isn’t a position.” 

Washington grimaced, looking away and towards the door. “We need to get out,” He told Tucker as he began making his way out into the hall. “I can call the police department for backup if w-” 

Tucker glared, yanking the handcuffs back towards him, causing Wash to tumble backward on him. “We are not doing that.” He hissed, looking down at the person in his lap.

Wash groaned, picking himself up as he stood up with a violent force and yanked Tucker up with him. “Yea. Yea we are.” He decided. “You are not specialized for this.” He scolded, not caring that they were both in an exposing position in the middle of the hall. “There is someone in this house and they don’t sound happy.” 

Tucker frowned, moving to cross his arms over his chest until he remembered the handcuffs. “Because you didn’t lock the door.” He grumbled stubbornly. 

Washington frowned. “No, Tucker.” He growled. “Why would I do that? Why the hell would I know how to do that?!” He yelled angrily. 

Tucker frowned. “Be quiet.” He mocked. “You’re going to give away our position!”

Washington glared, opening his mouth to speak before being quickly interrupted. 

“Too late.” 

Wash and Tucker both looked towards the end of the hall where a man stood. He had dark, disgruntled hair and broken glasses tilted on his face. He frowned before smiling happily again as he cocked the gun in his hands. 

Tucker raised a brow. “Who the fuck are you?” 

The man smiled. “Call me ‘O’Malley.” He barked, maniacal laughter erupting from his throat a second later. 


	9. le monstre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks <3

-The truth about monsters is that every monster you have met, or will ever meet, was once a human being with a soul-

_ ~10 years ago~ _

“I must warn you the patient is extremely manipulative and has a long history of physical and mental violence.” Came the rushed words of the hospital medical staff as she walked down the long white halls of the asylum with the visitor. “Do not approach, do not engage, and most importantly do not contemplate on his words too deeply. He is insane.” She stressed, trying her hardest to keep herself together. 

“I am aware of the status of your...client.” 

The staff member nodded and fumbled for her keys as she reached the door, recalling the four-inch linear gash on the side of her face that the patient gave her when he got ahold of her keys. “Then you’ll know to be careful.” She warned.

The man nodded as she unlocked the door. 

“I understand you are to have no distractions or interruptions.” She told him. “If there are any complications, immediately hit the red button on the door.” She instructed, cautiously pushing the door to the rubber room open. 

She wearily glanced inside and then stepped out of the way. “He’s all yours.” She told him, a worried expression on her face. 

The man nodded and stepped inside. 

The woman quickly shut the door behind him and locked it. 

“Good morning...I think.” Came a timid voice from the corner of the white padded room. 

“That it is.” The man stated, eyeing the room and it’s emptiness, besides for a cushioned bed. The man walked over to the bed and stood in front of it and then glanced over to the patient in the corner. “Why don’t you come sit on the bed and you and I will have a talk, Dufresne.” 

“It’s O’Malley to you, Fool!” Came the man’s cackled response. The corner of his lips coming up into a twisted smile as his laughter died down to an evil grin. 

It was always 'O'Malley. Doc was the handicap. That was it. He was in control and he'd be damned if he let Dufrense take that. 

“Do you remember who I am?” The man asked calmly. 

“You’re dead meat.” O’Malley sneered, cocking his head to get a better look at the man past his overgrown bangs, the same twisted smile plastered on his face. 

He once wore glasses. But had them confiscated after he stabbed his roommate with them.

“You may remember me as the Director.” The man said, maintaining his calm, deadpanned composure. “And I have been working on a special project that requires someone like you.” He stated simply. 

_ ‘The patient is still not showing signs of any inhuman likeability, although the possibility of a handicap is highly likely based on the odd appearance of the personality change.’ _

The Director’s thoughts flooded into O’Malley’s head. 

The Director knew things. Always did. 

Funny he couldn't figure out 'O'Malley's power.

Doc frowned, but O’Malley quickly took over, reverting the body’s facial expression back into a demonic smile as he slowly started standing up from his spot in the corner. His movements were ragged and somewhat erratic as he used the cushioned wall to balance himself on the account that his hands were inoperable thanks to the straight jacket. 

“I’ll take that as you being intrigued.” The Director mused.

O’Malley snickered as he began walking over to the Director. “What’s in it for me?” 

_ ‘Probably nothing in the long run.’ _

The Director smiled. “Anything you want.”

O’Malley slumped down on the bed, maintaining eye contact with the Director as he sunk against the back wall with a slight thud. “I want out,” O’Malley demanded. 

The Director looked around the room, before turning his attention back on O’Malley. “I put you in here for a reason.” He stated. 

The reason being when he had originally brought O’Malley into the house, there were only three other kids there and the Director wasn’t even fully sure Doc had extra abilities. He just knew the handicap was possibly present and that the orphanage he took him from claimed a multitude of things implying a power. 

The Director took him in and in return, O’Malley was violent towards the other kids and showed no signs of an extra ability or even wanting to better the possible ability.

When The Director deemed him as a lost cause, he stuck him in the asylum, knowing full well he couldn’t send him back into the real world knowing what he knew. 

Doc came into play and frowned, shaking his head as O’Malley took over once again and glared. 

_ ‘Easy, I could convince this place to do that for as little as 1K.”  _

'O'Malley grinned. 

He was rich?

Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Fine, but all in good time.” The Director stated. “First, I need to know your power.”

Do you think we can get some yoga equipment or something in the meantime? It’s kind of boring in here, Doc thought to his other personality.

Shut up you fool, let me do the negotiating O’Malley barked back at him. 

“ _ And _ ,” O’Malley stated, raising his voice just enough to call extra attention to it. “I want money, lots of it.”

“Money is not as expendable.” The Director mused. 

O’Malley deadpanned. The quick transition from his crooked smile to a blank expression unnerving for most. “I could convince this place to do that for as little as 1K” O’Malley sneered, reiterating the Director’s words. 

The Director paused, a smile tugging at his lips.  _ ‘I think we can work something out.’ _

  
  


* * *

Tucker sat in the hospital chair, nervously playing with his jacket strings. 

The Counselor was seated next to him, reading some magazine. 

Tucker couldn’t tell if he was going to be in trouble or not. It was the first time he had ever been out of the neighborhood and every noise, person, or thing startled him. 

The sun was too bright, the people were too loud, and he was too anxious to be excited about any of it. 

The Director had warned him of the outside world and told him he was not permitted to talk to anyone. The Counselor was brought along to make sure of that. 

When Tucker asked why he had to go, the Director told him that the whole situation was his fault and that this was how he had to learn his lesson. 

It couldn’t have been that much of his fault. He was sixteen and when he was presented with a once in a lifetime experience, he took it. And he was damn proud of it too! Finding a way out of that house to walk a mile through the thick forest was his greatest accomplishment. He thought he was so smart for planning the perfect time and place to do it. 

And when he finally made it to where Carmen asked to meet him, what happened after was even better. 

So much better. 

But then someone realized he was missing and apparently the Director put a tracker on all of them, so his perfect plan quickly fell apart. 

It was safe to say he had learned his lesson the instant he was brought home and told to head directly to his room where he was bombarded by the other teens and their questions about what happened. 

No one seemed to care how dangerous it was to be caught talking to each other. All they cared about was knowing more about the outside world. 

He was punished daily after that until a few months later when Carmen’s mom showed up at the Director’s doorstep with some news. After about an hour of arguing between the Director and Counselor, Tucker was brought to the hospital.

Which led him to the stale waiting room, sitting nervously on an uncomfortable plastic chair, next to a peeved Counselor. 

“You can come in now.” A doctor told them, causing Tucker to jump. 

He wasn’t used to being addressed by so many people. 

“What’s the verdict?” The Counselor asked. 

The doctor looked down at his notepad as Tucker was motioned to get up by the Counselor. “Their family is moving back to Mexico and will not be taking it with them.” The doctor stated. “What happens next is up to you.”

The Counselor nodded as he put his hand on Tucker’s back, guiding him to follow the Doctor into one of the rooms. 

Tucker hesitantly walked in and looked at all the little beds and the name tags scattered across them. 

The doctor walked to one of the beds and looked at Tucker. “Right here.” He told him. 

Tucker averted the doctor’s gaze and walked towards the bed, placing his hands on the rim of it. 

He stared down at the baby sleeping soundly in it and then at the nametag above it. 

_ “Junior.” _

Tucker frowned and looked back at the Counselor. “I don’t want it.” He told him quietly, as if a single loud, misspoken word would break the rule the Director gave him. 

The Doctor looked towards the Counselor. “I’ll give you both some space,” He said, heading for the door. “If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask.” He then shut the door, leaving them alone in the room. 

Tucker grimaced as he looked down at the Counselor's shoes, instead of looking at him directly.

The Counselor then sighed. “You don’t have a choice,” He told him. “The Director thinks the kid might be able to tell him more about these powers and whether or not they are hereditary.” 

“I thought we debunked that with Kai.” Tucker mumbled, turning to look back at the baby. 

He didn’t want the thing. 

The only reason he did what he did with Carmen was to shove it in the Director’s face later and because come on? He was a teenager. What teenager said no to sex with a super hot chick who liked to be called Crunchbite and knew how to tie a knot in a cherry stem? 

But that didn’t mean he wanted a baby. There was no way he could be a dad. He wouldn’t be any good at it and he would have to devote all his attention towards it. 

To make matters worse, the Director had already made it clear to him that he had to watch it and feed it and put it to sleep and that there was no way of getting out of that because he needed another science experiment. 

Granted he didn’t tell Tucker about that last part, but he didn’t need to say it. Tucker already knew that was the baby’s purpose. 

“This is bullshit.” Tucker hissed, under his breath; staring angrily at the baby in front of him. 

“Lavernius.” The Counselor warned. 

Tucker frowned, begrudgingly picking up the baby. 

It wasn’t very heavy in his arms and under any other circumstances would look cute. The teal blanket matched one of his favorite colors and looking at the thing only reminded him that the Director was forcing him to keep it. 

When they got back to the house, Tucker was told to head straight to his bedroom. 

His room stayed all the same and he knew if he wanted baby stuff he would have to ask. 

What did a baby even need?

He figured at least a bed because he sure as hell didn’t want to sleep with the thing. 

He got no visits from anybody, he supposed the Director made it clear to them that they were not to engage with him.

He imagined the Director didn’t want anybody to figure out how he left or give anybody any ideas on how they possibly could too. 

Tucker shut the door to his room, the baby still sleeping in his arms. He sat down on his bed with it when he noticed a note on his dresser. 

He leaned forward to read it and glared, noticing the Director’s handwriting right away. 

_ “The Counselor will make a trip later today for baby formula and diapers. Let us be aware when you run out.  _

_ I will be keeping an eye on the child and every 8 months will hand it off to the Counselor for the day for a check-up.  _

_ Do not be confused.  _

_ This child is not yours, it’s mine and is merely a bi-product of you.  _

_ Don’t mess this up.” _

Tucker sighed, leaning back against his bed frame when the baby opened its mouth. 

Tucker had paused then, not wanting to startle it. 

His attempt didn’t matter anyway because the thing then suddenly started screaming. 

It was high-pitched and obnoxious and Tucker had jumped slightly when it started. 

He looked around his room and remembering he wasn’t allowed out, didn’t make a move to leave and go get help. 

“It’s your responsibility.” The Director’s words rang in his head. 

Tucker looked back down at the baby and frowned as he bounced it a little. “Go back to sleep.” He begged. 

Junior didn’t stop crying. 

Not when Tucker begged it to or got stern with it or even when he tried the loving approach and let it rest its snotty head on his shoulder. 

He took off its blanket in case it was hot and that only made it cry more. Only now, the thing could properly kick its feet to add to its tantrum. 

Then Tucker realized he didn’t know how to swaddle it again and struggled to secure Junior in the blanket for another five minutes.

When half an hour passed and Junior still hadn’t stopped screaming, his voice seeming too loud for an infant, Tucker grabbed his headphones on his bedside table and put them into his ears as he began playing music. 

If the kid wouldn’t be quiet, no matter what he did, he would tune it out and hope that it would eventually shut up. 

But even with his headphones in, he could still hear Junior. 

So gradually, he began increasing the volume, louder and louder until he knew if he pulled out his earbuds, he’d still be able to hear the music. 

And that was when something remarkable happened. 

Junior stopped crying. 

Tucker sighed, realized as he tugged out the earbuds and stopped the music. 

Junior began crying again. 

Tucker watched the baby and played with his theory a little, pausing and starting the music back up and noticing Junior’s reaction. 

Eventually, he stopped and let the music play. 

Junior was quiet after that and Tucker relaxed against the bed frame, watching curiously as the baby started drifting back to sleep. 

“Music calms me down too.” He consoled quietly, pulling the disgruntled blanket over the baby’s shoulder. 

Tucker looked down at Junior and smiled. 

Maybe he was kind of cute. 

* * *

Donut sat at the dinner table, waiting patiently to be served as the teens around him yelled at each other and caused a ruckus. 

“Here comes the airplane.” Tucker coed in a chair diagonal from him. 

The Director had switched Donut’s and his seat so that Tucker could feed the 9-month-old close to the edge of the table with ample room for the baby’s chair. Junior giggled happily in his high chair as green mush was presented to him and Tucker smiled.

Junior was cute, really loud, but cute. 

Donut understood why they had to switch seats. 

The only problem he had with it was that now he was in the middle, stuck between Caboose and Church and across from Kai, Texas, and Grif; Simmons seated diagonally from Grif. 

It could be interesting though because his newfound spot let him observe everything that was happening around him. 

For example, how when food was served, Grif slyly found new ways to flick food off the end of his spoon at Simmons. 

The other teenager would sputter every time and try to catch Grif in the act, yet fail. 

It was interesting how close they were. 

Donut was pretty sure there was something else going on between them.

A thud under the table interrupted his observations as his glass shook and a plate of food was placed in front of him. 

He heard Church hiss next to him. “Stop kicking me you stupid bitch.” He sneered, glaring at Texas across the table who only smiled at him, spinning her fork around in her hand as the table thudded again and Church winced. 

Then it was Texas’s turn to hiss as her side of the table thudded and her cup rattled. 

Donut was left to assume that Church kicked back. 

Kai laughed hysterically and only stopped, covering a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter when Texas glared at her. 

All their lives they weren’t allowed to talk to their “siblings”, but as they all got older, they had made the mutual agreement to say Fuck you to those rules. 

Of course, they only did that when they were left alone with the Counselor, who lost his will to force them to follow the rules as he got older and grew increasingly tired. 

The Counselor finished serving them and left the room, sitting in the armchair outside the door so that he could rush in if something happened, but was still left alone for some peace and quiet. 

Donut sighed, picking boredly at his food when he caught movement from Caboose out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look at him and noticed him shoveling handfuls of ham, slyly, into his pocket. 

“Caboose,” He whispered, causing the larger teen to jump slightly at being caught. “What are you doing?” 

Caboose looked around him cautiously and then raised a finger to his mouth to hush him. “Shhh, Candycane.” 

Donut frowned. “Why are you stuffing your meat into your pocket?” He demanded to know. 

Caboose smiled. “It's a secret.” He whispered excitedly.

Donut watched him for a second longer as he kept looking at him with that excited expression. He looked like he was awaiting Donut to keep talking. “Do you want to tell me the secret?” Donut then asked. 

Caboose nodded vigorously. “Well, if you are insisting.” He said happily before leaning in close to Donut. “I’ll tell you after food time.” 

Donut chuckled and returned back to his own food. “Ok.” He agreed. 

Caboose held his promise a half-hour later as all the teens cleared the dining room and scattered across the house; Tucker taking Junior into the backroom to change his diaper, Simmons reporting for training, and the others most likely heading back to their rooms. Caboose had grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the dining room. 

“Where are we going?” Donut asked, struggling to keep up with the pace of the larger teen while simultaneously keeping his hair neat.

Caboose smiled, skipping as he opened the sliding glass door leading out to the outside backyard. 

After Tucker escaped the house and conceived Junior, the other teens weren’t allowed in the backyard anymore. Donut and Caboose still went back there, however. Donut believed that was because the Director didn’t seem to care enough about them to watch them when they left for outside. 

Caboose rushed excitedly over to the edge of the fence and leaned his ear on the wood, ushering Donut over. 

When he made his way over, Caboose began whistling to something on the other side of the fence.

Donut listened in as it was quiet for a moment. That was before slight jingling and rustling were heard on the opposite side of the fence. 

Donut was confused for a moment before something on the other side of the fence stuck its muzzle through a hole in the wooden fence and licked at the edges of the wood generously.

Caboose smiled brightly as the creature retracted its snout and began barking on the other side of the fence. 

“It's- it's a dog.” Donut concluded with a smile, getting on his knees in front of the fence. 

Caboose nodded happily, leaning down as Donut did. “I named him Freckles.” He informed Donut, digging into his pocket and taking out a slice of ham. 

Caboose stuck his hand through the fence and laughed as Freckled scooped it up from his hand with his tongue and into his mouth. 

When freckles finished the piece, his mouth returned to the fence, licking at the wood happily. 

“Would you like to feed him?” Caboose asked, holding out a piece of ham for Donut. 

Donut smiled sincerely as he took it. “Thanks, Caboose.” He thanked as he began feeding Freckles. 

Caboose smiled contently. “One day,” He started telling Donut. “Me and Freckles won’t have this fence blocking our love. And then we can live together forever.” 

* * *

Texas smiled at Church, leaning against the doorway to his room as he dragged himself in and collapsed on the bed. 

“Busy day?” She questioned, shutting the door behind him. 

Church rolled over onto the bed, stuffing his face into his pillow as he groaned. “Why does he care so much about me?” He questioned, flopping back onto his back. “My ability isn’t even that interesting.” 

“You were his first,” Texas told him. “You’ll always be his favorite.” 

Texas wouldn’t tell him the full truth. 

She couldn’t. 

Church rolled his eyes. 

“Your ability is powerful,” She added. “Your anger drives it and you’re a very angry person.” She scoffed, uncrossing her arms, and striding over to his bed. She winced as her handicap took over and her ears rang for a good 30 seconds before the pressure slowly was put off. 

Church sat up in the bed, extending a hand with a worried expression on his face. 

He knew how bad her handicap hurt. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, but sit there with her and be quiet until the ringing in her ears ceased for a little while. 

“I’m fine.” She told him with a smile as the ringing let up. 

Church nodded, slowly leaning back in his bed. “Yea, well the fucking lunatic was jabbering more about his big plan than usual today.” He commented, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Excited?” 

Church raised a brow at her. “No. It’s dumb and vague and whatever he’s planning isn’t going to work.”

“Just stick with it,” Texas told him. 

Church was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Why are you supportive of him?” He asked. 

Texas would never tell Church about how she was supposed to be in his place. How she was supposed to be the big step of her plan, but how the Director kept her out of it so she wouldn’t get hurt if anything went south. “How else am I supposed to use my time?” 

“Oh!” Church added, remembering part of the lesson. “He introduced me to Grif like I didn’t already fucking know the guy. He said we’d have to learn to work together and that I had to keep him safe. Like, what the fuck? When did I become someone’s babysitter?” He spat, exasperating with his hands. 

Texas scoffed. “Let's not talk about it anymore.” She said as she brought a hand back towards Church and he held it in her own.

Church smiled and leaned forward as their lips connected. 

It was a rare moment of peace as Texas smiled and kissed back eagerly. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and pushed into it as a hand snaked around his side. 

That peace was disrupted, probably forever, as the door to the bedroom whipped open. 

They both jumped, a look of panic on Texas’s face as the Director barged in, his arms crossed over his chest. “Allison!” He shrieked. 

Texas flinched and Church looked over at her with a confused ferocity. 

He didn’t have much time to think, however, as the Director rushed up to her and violently grabbed her wrist, nails digging into the skin. Texas winced as he turned to leave, yanking her along with him as she struggled to break the grip he had on her. 

“What are you doing?!” Church screamed as he followed them out of the room and down the stairs. 

The Director barged into his office, tossing her to the floor as he grabbed something up off his desk and walked back over to Texas who had scrambled to get up. The Director turned to Church as he grabbed her and pressed the stick-like item he had grabbed off from the table against her neck. “I gave you one rule!” He chastised. “Keep away from each other!” He yelled, pressing a button on the item. 

Church watched in horror as electricity sparked from the little steel bumps at the end of the item. 

Texas screeched, writhing in pain in the Director’s hands. 

“Stop!” Church screeched, stepping forward, only stopping when The Director glared at him. 

“I give you everything,” He spat, holding down the button on the device as Texas grabbed at his wrist and fell to the ground, holding her hands up in front of her as she spat up onto the ground as a result of the electric shock. 

Church froze, looking down at Texas. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “Just please don’t-” 

The Director laughed, stepping behind Texas and grabbing her shoulder as he pressed the device against the back of her neck. “I already gave you your warning.” He hissed, pressing his finger down on the button’s device. 

“Stop!” Church cried, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “You’re really hurting her!” 

Church moved to step forwards when Texas held out a hand towards him. “Dad,” She whimpered. “Please stop.” 

Church rushed over as she collapsed on the ground; her eyes shut close and her body motionless. 

The Director was quick to stop him, pushing him back and pointing towards the door as he took his finger off the button. “Get out!” He yelled. 

Church made a move to get closer again until the Director held up the device at him. 

“Let this be a lesson.” He sneered viciously. 

* * *

Church sighed, looking out into the night sky as he tossed a loose brick off the building’s roof onto the concrete below. 

He hated this fucking house. 

He hated that he hadn’t seen Texas in a week. 

He hated that it was his fault. 

He could have saved her somehow. Maybe if he wasn’t such a fucking pussy. He could’ve dove towards her or fought somehow. He didn’t even try to use his magic. In the fear of the moment, it was like he didn’t know how. 

And now, because he was a fucking coward, something happened to her and he didn’t know what. 

Actually, that was a lie. 

Church presumed she was- 

Well, you know...

No living anymore.

He didn’t want to say it. 

After her disappearance, nothing changed. 

That cockroach that called himself the Director didn't address it at all. Texas’s room was locked and her chair at the table was taken away. 

That was it. 

It was like she never even existed. 

Church didn't even want to get into the fact that she called him dad. At this point, he didn't care. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He didn't wanna think about anything. 

He wanted not to have to live through it. 

Church looked down at the ground below him. 

It'd be so easy to just stand up and jump off. 

  
  


“Dude, what the fuck is your sorry ass doing up here all alone?” Tucker grumbled, lifting himself up onto the roof where Church was with a huff. “It’s cold as dicks out here.” 

Church snapped out of his thoughts, glancing towards the nuisance that was Tucker. “None of your business, what the fuck do you want?”

Tucker looked taken back. “Shit man, who pissed in your coffee?” 

Church rolled his eyes as Tucker continued. 

“It’s me, the all-loveable Tucker. Come on, now.” 

Church rolled his eyes again, looking away from Tucker. “Well, the all-loveable Tucker better have brought something worth not kicking his sorry-butt off this rooftop.” 

Tucker grinned, grabbing something out of his pocket and holding it up. “Does a blunt meet your standards?” He asked, holding it out. 

Church looked towards him, now interested as he grabbed it and the lighter from his pocket. 

Tucker scoffed. “You underestimate me.” He mumbled as Church lit it and took a long drag from it. “Better?” Tucker then questioned. 

Church nodded, hitting it again before passing it back to Tucker. “Don’t you have a brat to look after?” He questioned. 

Tucker nodded. “That cologne you hate so much will cover the smell,” He decided as he exhaled from the blunt and leaned back on one of his hands, relaxed. “Besides I got this from Carmen. It’s special.” 

Church scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured to Tucker to hand him back fag. “You guys weren’t anything special.” He commented. “You knocked her up.” 

Tucker passes him the blunt, growing silent. “Sorry about Texas.” He mumbled out. 

Church’s face saddened as he recalled what happened. He let his hands fall at his side as he smoked and sighed, looking towards Tucker. “Have ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn’t have?” He then asked. 

Maybe it was the weed making him loosen up or maybe it was the fact that he really wanted to talk about it and Tucker was ok company. He didn’t really know. All he knew was that she was dead and he was conflicted. 

Tucker nodded. “Dude. Are you really asking me that?” He asked humorously, causing Church to scoff and look away. “When I first saw Junior, I wanted nothing to do with him,” Tucker explained. "I hated him. He stood for everything I tried to escape from. He was made off of lies and the pure pent up anger of being trapped within this place. But then I held him and instantly fell in love. I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to.” Tucker told him solemnly as Church passed him the cig. “Because I know when he eventually leaves me, It’s gonna hurt.” 

Church nodded, looking towards the night sky as he continued.

“There will always be people like that but you can’t let that stop you from loving them,” Tucker assured him. “You shouldn’t live like that. Instead, you should enjoy the time you have. And for you, you should enjoy the time you had.”

Church nodded, staring down at the concrete below him. “Thanks.” He mumbled. 

* * *

Grif sat boredly at the training table as he scribbled on the parchment paper in front of him. He was tired of drawing stupid fucking demons. He didn’t want to wake up to the pictures anymore or see weird shadows in the dark. 

Maybe the point was to scare him so that he’d get used to them. 

Only Grif didn’t want to get used to them.

Grif sighed, standing up from the table in front of him and grabbing the picture and a pin from the little box at the end of the table. Turning around, he moved to head back into his room and pin it up when the Director stopped him. 

“Counselor, please hang up Dexter’s photo for him.” He instructed. 

Grif raised a brow as the Counselor moved over to him, took the items from his hands, and stepped away towards his room. 

  
  


“Thanks.” He grumbled out, unsure of himself as he walked away.

The Director frowned, waving Grif over to him. “Dexter,” He began. 

Grif nodded, his arms at his side as he waited for instructions. 

“I believe you are finally ready to begin practicing for the final step.” 

“You mean your plan or whatever?” Grif questioned. 

The Director nodded. “Yea, follow me.” He demanded, turning as Grif followed nervously. 

He heard from Simmons, who heard it from Donut, who heard it from Tucker, who heard it from Church about what had happened to Texas. 

He sure as hell didn’t want to be Texas 2.0. 

The Director ushered him outside and towards a little stone building a few hundred yards away. Grif noticed the building as they stopped in front of it, himself out of breath. It was the building that he always saw out of his window, but Donut always said was locked. 

The Director pulled a key from his pocket and leaned forward, unlocking the door. “You can see the dead,” He confirmed, opening the door. “But I believe there is a higher extent to your abilities, as I do with the other children.”

Grif nodded slowly, confused by what that meant, but too scared to question it. “Of course,” He agreed quietly, peering into the open door; not daring to enter without permission. 

“I have high hopes for you, Dexter.” The Director told him, ushering him into the room. 

“I thought Church was your favorite?” Grif asked, stepping in. 

The room was small with steel cabinets lining the walls. The one wall that didn’t have any steel cabinets, held rows, and rows of books. The roof slanted inward with grey bricks and the floor was a tan, tiled color with indented swirls in it. 

Why the hell would one even have a room like this?

The Director frowned, shutting the door behind Grif as he stepped in, causing Grif to look back cautiously. “He is,” The Director stated. “I am extremely interested in the extent of his abilities as they mostly stem from his emotions. But he is merely a side character when it comes to what I’m planning.” 

Grif swallowed the lump in his throat, looking towards one of the cabinets. “What are you planning?” 

The Director glanced back at him dully. “For now, that's between me and the Director.” He stated. 

Grif stepped forward as the Director waved him over. He watched carefully as the Director then pulled out a key. “This will be your practice for what’s in store.” He told him. 

The Director used the key to open the cabinet and pulled out the tray inside. 

“Holy shit!” Grif jolted back, covering his mouth from shrieking as he stared at the dead body on the tray. “Is that-” He mustered, holding back the urge to puke. “Texas?” 

The Director glared. “She is your test subject.” He corrected harshly. “And I want you to bring her back from the dead.” 


	10. Le garçon fantôme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, it's ok.

Washington turned the corner, trying his best to keep his movements predictable as to not confuse Tucker and risk him tripping and slowing them down. 

Tucker skid after Wash. 

“If you didn’t cuff me, this wouldn’t be a problem.” Washington hissed as they came to an intersection in the house.

“Shut up,” Tucker retorted. “And let me lead. You don’t know you’re way around this place.” 

Washington glared. “Uncuff me,” He growled. 

Tucker squinted at him. If he uncuffed Wash, nothing was stopping him from leaving Tucker. 

So there was no way in hell he was going to be doing that-

Tucker whipped his head behind him as he heard a loud crash and ricketing laughter. “Ok, fine.” He groaned, looking back towards Wash. 

Wash let his shoulders drop as he sighed and held out their connected wrists so that Tucker could uncuff them. 

Tucker glanced behind him and then hurriedly reached into his pocket and pulled out the small key for the cuffs. He loosened the cuff on his end and then Wash’s. Catching the cuffs before they fell, he shoved them back into his pocket, along with the key. 

“Thank you,” Wash exasperated, rubbing the previously cuffed wrist. 

Tucker nodded. “Yea, yea. Now follow me.” He ushered, turning down a hall as the crashes ‘O’Malley was causing got closer. 

Washington contemplated heading a different route for a good second. He could, but Tucker was right; he didn’t know where he was. And he did come here for answers. 

He sighed, following Tucker down the hall. 

Tucker glanced hurriedly between different doors and quickly grabbed Wash’s wrist and pulled him into a room, slamming the door behind him. 

Washington stumbled to regain his balance as Tucker tossed him into the room. When he did, he quickly looked around the room, observing his surroundings. The area he was in looked like an office. Stacks of paper and an old-timey computer sat upon a wooden desk and file cabinets scattered the end of the wall. 

Wash looked towards the file cabinets once again and ran towards one. He shook it slightly and when he noticed that he could easily move one, began pushing it towards the door. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Tucker demanded to know. 

Washington grunted, pushing the file cabinet up against the door and tipping it over on its side. Drawers on the cabinet flew open and papers scattered everywhere as Wash quickly moved to grab another one. “Barricading the door,” Wash explained as he began selecting another cabinet. “Come help me.”

Tucker paid no mind to Wash as he stepped towards the papers scattered on the ground and kneeled down; picking one up. 

“If we get the door barricaded,” Wash began saying. “We can buy ourselves enough time to sneak out a back entrance or bust open one of these windows.” He looked around the back of the wall. “I don’t see any other doors out unless you know of any so we’ll just have to bust down the window.” 

Washington began pushing another file cabinet when he noticed Tucker being oddly quiet. He halted his movements and looked around the cabinet to see Tucker who was leaning in front of the scattered papers with a horrified look on his face. 

“Oh no,” Wash mustered, moving over to him. “What’s wrong?”

Tucker flipped through the papers, gathering as many as he could and reading the titles plastered on them. “No, no, no, no, no.” He hissed quietly. 

Washington kneeled next to him, placing a hand on his back. “Tucker, what’s wrong?” 

Tucker sniffled, gripping the papers in his hands. “I was born with a handicap.” He choked out, not looking at Wash as his voice remained emotionless. 

Washington raised a brow. “Handicap? What are you talking about?” 

“A handicap,” Tucker reiterated, biting his lip. “It’s something put in place for magical people to stiffen their abilities. Everyone has them.” He explained. “For Grif, it’s nightmares. Simmons, nausea, and…” Tucker paused. “Church has headaches.” 

He broke his kneeled position as he lowered himself to the floor, now sitting down in the pile of papers. “I don’t have one.” He told Wash. “I thought it was because I wasn’t born with one, but that’s not what happened.” 

Washington watched as his expression went dead. “What happened?” He asked quietly. 

Tucker sighed, shaking his head. “My handicap was supposed to be hallucinations. Or it was for a while I guess, but-” He paused, clearing his throat. “I guess my selfish ass didn’t like that because somehow I passed it on.” 

“What?” Wash questioned. “How? To who?” 

“Church.” 

Washington frowned. “Bu-”

“I gave him my handicap,” Tucker managed quietly, before looking towards Wash. “And now he has two and it's all  _ my  _ fault!” 

Washington’s face went solemn. “Tucker, I’m sure it wasn’t your fa-” 

“Yes, it was!” Tucker yelled back, shoving the paper he was previously looking at in his face. “Look!” He hissed. “It is my fault.” 

Washington sputtered as the paper was rammed in his face. He pulled it away and looked over it, reading the notes written.

  
  


_ April 21 _

_ -Lavernius complains of things that aren’t there. During the process of explaining the handicap concept, he denied that that was what it was and got frustrated when I told him about the recurring aspect of it. He was told he’d have to live with it, which was a statement that wasn’t accepted.  _

_ April 29  _

_ -Dexter’s locked himself in his room complaining about nightmares. He refuses to finish training. I believe he fears the undead. _

_ (begin to shake that fear from his subconscious) _

_ Perhaps a form of fear factor is in order.  _

_ May 1 _

_ -Lavernius no longer speaks to things that aren’t there. He claims he sees nothing out of the ordinary with his vision or imagination. I’ve run several tests and see no prominent sign of a handicap anymore.  _

_ His abilities are still intact.  _

_ May 25 _

_ -Leonard has begun seeing things that aren’t there.  _

_ If that means what I think it does, more tests are in order.  _

_ Perhaps there’s a way to get rid of the handicaps completely _

Washington paused his reading of the notes when he heard yelling come from down the hall. His head snapped up as he heard ‘O’Malley laughter outside the door. 

“Tucker?” Washington called frantically as he dropped the paper and looked over to Tucker who was almost obsessively reading more files. “Tucker, we have to get out of here. Worry about that later.” 

Tucker shook his head, placing one piece of paper down and picking up another. “I don’t wanna.”

Washington winced as he heard the deep voice get closer. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” It sang-song horrifically. 

Washington scrambled to quickly get up and reached for Tucker’s shoulder, shaking him. “Tucker, snap out of it. We have to go.” 

Tucker glared up at him, swatting his hand away. “Don’t you get it? These are the Director’s files. All the information he had on us. It’s important.” He spat, looking down at the papers. 

Washington bit his lip and jumped, backing away from the slightly barricaded door as something thudded against it. 

“I know you're in there!” ‘O’Malley barked, kicking the door rapidly. 

Washington snarled and grabbed Tucker by the arm as he began pulling him up and dragging him away from the files. 

Tucker squirmed in his grasp, yanking his arm away as he dropped the papers. “Stop.” He whined as they now both stood in the middle room. Tucker looked towards the files once again with mesmerization and Wash quickly grabbed his wrist, directing his attention back onto him. 

“Tucker!” He whisper-shouted. “There is a very violent someone outside the door who will absolutely shoot us on sight. Do it later!” 

Tucker glanced between Wash and the files before grumbling and sighing. “Fine,” He bit out. “Get back.” He sneered, pushing Wash towards the side of the wall as he moved towards the Director's desk and put his hands under the frame. 

Tucker bent his knees slightly and yanked the desk up on its side, using the table as a barricade. 

Bullets flew through the door violently and both Tucker and Wash quickly bolted behind the desk for cover. The door swung open a second later with a large “WHACK” sound and Washington bit his lip, staying frozen behind the desk as he resisted the urge to peek around the edge. 

‘O'Malley wandered in, stepping over papers as he cocked the gun in his hands. “Yoo-hoo?” He taunted with a chuckle.

Wash looked worriedly to Tucker who only smiled towards the door as he remained crouched down.

Washington raised a brow as Tucker extended a hand towards him, ushering him to sit down on the floor while he dealt with ‘O’Malley.

Tucker stayed behind the barricade that was the desk and listened closely to O'Malley's footsteps. 

Just a little bit closer…

Tucker readjusted the handcuffs in his wrist, closing his eyes and opening them quickly as his eyes shone bright teal. Not to Wash, of course. He couldn’t see any type of illusion Tucker mustered. 

Tucker grinned as he heard ‘O’Malley stop right in the spot he wanted him. 

Tucker then took a deep breath as he quietly shot up from his spot on the ground and jumped onto the desk; the action blowing papers onto the ground and knocking a few items off the table. 

‘O’Malley was turned the other way, as Tucker expected, causing him to gain the high ground and element of surprise in a split second. 

After that, it was a quick movement for Tucker to hold the handcuffs out in front of him and pounce onto O'Malley's back. ‘O’Malley crumbled to the ground with a sharp grunt, his gun getting knocked out of his hands as Tucker sat on top of him and quickly grabbed both ends of the handcuffs, wrapping them around ‘O’Malley’s neck. 

Tucker pulled the handcuffs back towards him and O'Malley gasped for breath as the metal tightened around his neck and cut off airflow to his lungs. He attempted to raise his hands, clawing at the steel chaining wrapped around his neck. 

Washington shot up from behind the desk, hearing all the commotion. He only paused, however, freezing in his position as he saw Tucker, on top of ‘O’Malley, choking him with the handcuffs that previously kept them together. 

‘O’Malley’s face began growing purple and Wash knew, if Tucker didn’t stop, the man would die. 

Washington stared in horror, rushing over to the front of the table as he watched it all go down from Tucker’s backside. “Tucker, stop!” He commanded. 

Tucker didn’t listen. If anything, he seemed to pull back harder. “You’re going to kill him!” Wash screeched, his brow furrowed. 

Tucker loosened his grip a little, turning back to Wash with a smile. “That’s the fucking point.” He exasperated. 

Washington shook his head, stepping back away from Tucker as he attempted to be further away from him. To be honest, the look on the other man’s face scared him a little. Just a little. “No. That’s not how we do things.” 

Tucker raised a brow. “What we?!” He demanded to know. “There is no we.” 

Washington frowned. “Well, you can’t just kill him. It's inhuman and I know you’re not a murderer.” 

Tucker laughed a little, about to speak again when he was interrupted. 

“Yea, you foolish bastard, listen to boy-toy.” ‘O’Malley croaked out, his voice hoarse as he grinned. 

Tucker turned back to ‘O’Malley, pulling back the handcuffs with a scowl. When ‘O’Malley jerked around in pain under him, Tucker turned back to Wash, pleased, and smiled once again. “Ok, now he  _ has  _ to die.” He affirmed. 

“No, he doesn’t.” Wash exasperated, pausing when Tucker seemed uninterested at his words, turning back towards ‘O’Malley. 

Obviously, Wash was doing a poor job trying to convince him to not kill a man. 

Washington held his breath as he thought of another approach. “Your son wouldn’t have thought he needed to die.” He told Tucker, hoping that would change his mind.

Tucker whipped his head around towards Washington. 

And if he wasn’t pissed before, he definitely was furious now. 

“Don’t you dare talk about him!” Tucker yelled, his anger now directed at Washington. “You have no idea what he would have wanted!” He bellowed irritably. 

Washington backed up into the desk behind him as Tucker stared at him with a ferocity that would scare any man. 

He was silent for a second longer until Tucker turned back towards O'Malley and loosened the grip he had on him just enough for him to not be inching near death. “Why are you here?” Tucker demanded to know. 

‘O’Malley cackled before stopping abruptly and frowning sadly, seeming somewhat scared. “Answers,” He responded timidly. 

Wash raised a brow, stepping closer as ‘O’Malley shook his head violently and began laughing again. 

Tucker reciprocated Wash’s confusion as he leaned forward towards ‘O’Malley. ‘O’Malley’s head went limp as his breathing evened out calmly. “It’s not just ‘O’Malley in there, is it?” Tucker questioned. 

‘O’Malley shook his head against the hardwood floor. “Frank, too.” He mumbled quietly. 

“Split personality?” Washington questioned, catching Tucker’s attention as his anger towards him seemed to dissipate. 

Tucker leaned back and nodded. “Frank?” He questioned. 

‘O’Malley jerked around slightly before Frank calmed his movements. “It’s a handicap.” He choked out. 

Tucker paused. Handicap? That meant this man was like him. He had always assumed there were more people out there like them, the Director had always implied so, but he never thought he’d actually meet another one. 

“Can you control it?” Washington asked. 

“No.” Frank mustered out. “I wouldn’t advise lifting your hold on me.” 

Tucker nodded as ‘O’Malley began bucking up against the restraints and growling from the back of his throat. “OFF, OFF, OFF, OFF!” He shrieked, slamming his head against the hardwood floor. 

Wash’s eyes shot open as blood began pooling slightly on the floor below ‘O’Malley as he cut up his own forehead on the floor below. 

Tucker quickly pulled the handcuffs back, arching O'Malley's neck back and keeping his head in a tight hold so that he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself again. 

Washington then quickly walked around the blood and papers on the floor and leaned in front of ‘O’Malley. He stared him dead in the eyes, trying to decipher whether he was talking to Frank or O'Malley. “Frank?” He questioned. 

‘O’Malley grinned as he gathered up streams of spit in his mouth and spat onto Wash’s shirt. 

Tucker laughed as Wash groaned, standing up and stepping away from ‘O’Malley’.

“I’m sorry.” Frank mustered, biting his lip. “He’s just angry because he wants to find the Director.”

“I AM NOT!” ‘O’Malley roared, struggling against Tucker’s grip. 

“Well, you don’t need to worry about him,” Tucker uttered, tightening his grip as ‘O’Malley softened under him. “He’s dead.” 

Frank smiled nervously. “Ok, then I think we’re done here-” 

“THAT BASTARD RUINED MY LIFE!” ‘O’Malley interrupted. “WHO KILLED HIM?!” He demanded to know, staring up at Washington. “HE WAS MINE! MINE! TO WATCH BLEED OUT AND DIE!!!”

Washington shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“He killed himself.” Tucker corrected. 

‘O’Malley growled, growing silent as he stared violently at the wall in front of him. "THAT FUCKING COWARD!"

“What do we do with him?” Wash asked Tucker. “And we’re not killing him.” He quickly added. “But I hardly doubt we should just let him into society.”

Tucker nodded. He could kill him, despite what Wash wanted, but he had a better idea. 

* * *

One leg on the table...then the other. 

The man kept the hoodie up over his head, not that it really hid the fluff of orange hair or noticeable eyebrow ring as he pulled a gun out from the inside of his pocket and raised it up in the air. 

“Nobody fucking move!” He demanded, lowering the gun towards the scared civilians. 

But none of it mattered.

Because before he even finished standing up on the table, Simmons was already charging. 

People scattered, backing away towards walls and behind desks as Simmons jumped on the man and grabbed harshly at him, tumbling them both to the ground with a hard thump. 

Grif sputtered, watching Simmons dive as dozens of people clamored around him to get to the exit door of the bank as quickly as they could. He was shoved back and unable to move forward as shoulders ran into him and people stepped on his feet; pushing past him in a hurry. 

And then suddenly, people started dropping down onto the ground like flies and Grif quickly turned to see another, darker, much larger male near the exit of the bank; a gun in his hand and a mask over his face. “Get on your hands and knees.” He commanded, his voice unbelievably deep; almost like he was doing it on purpose somehow. 

Grif quickly lowered himself to the ground as the gun was pointed directly at him. 

And that's when he heard the gunshot. 

Grif looked up towards the opposite side of the bank where a bullet was fired, something hitching in his chest. He sighed in relief when he noted Simmons seemed unhurt. He then angled his head around the people around him as he saw Simmons and the previous man rolled over on the ground and Grif bit his lip, watching from the floor and wanting desperately to shoot up and do something. 

Instead, he was forced to observe, cheering silently to himself when Simmons rolled them over a final time so that he was on top of the guy. 

Simmons reached for the gun, leaning forward on top of the man. 

He was so close. So fucking close. 

He knew he had to have bought off some time. There was a bank teller at the counter, surely in the minute he had the man under him on the ground, he called the police or something. A gunshot was fired, surely someone across the street heard something. The bank didn’t have any large windows or anything. It was an old-timey building, so you couldn’t exactly see what was happening inside, but someone had to have noticed  _ something.  _ No people were coming out of the building. That was questionable.

He could tell something was going on behind him too, but he was too engulfed in the threat under him to notice or even want to risk looking back. 

He knew Grif would give him hell after this was all over, but he didn’t care. He wanted to do this; needed to do it. 

There were women and children in that bank and it didn’t matter what Grif said, he couldn’t let them be put in danger. 

When he first joined the force, he took an oath. 

He was going to fill it to the highest degree.

Apparently removing his hand from the man’s chest was the wrong move because he lowered the gun with much strain, a smile on his face, and pointed it at Simmons’s own chest before firing the gun again. 

Only this time, it hit. 

Simmons was jerked back, pain ricketing through his side as he watched his own blood implode from his stomach and splatter on the floor and man below him. 

“SIMMONS!” Grif screeched, shooting up from his spot on the floor so that he was now upon his knees. 

“I said hands and knees!” The man behind him growled, taking his hardened boot and crushing Grif’s chest back down to the hard floor as he attempted to reach a hand out towards Simmons. 

And that’s when sirens were heard down the street. 

The man above him lifted his boot off of him and glared towards his accomplice. “Felix!” He barked out. 

The man was doing a good job checking for phones in the beginning, but Grif guessed he wasn’t doing that when Simmons originally tackled his bastard friend. 

The person, the man referred to as Felix, glanced around begrudgingly and sighed, pointing his gun at the people around him as he backtracked towards his advocate. 

The dark man whispered something to Felix and then both quickly barged out of the back entrance of the building that Felix was previously guarding. 

People were crying, the sirens were growing closer, but Grif didn’t care. He scrambled up, rushing over towards Simmons who was now on the ground, blood pooling around him. Grif grabbed his shoulder, pulling him up as Simmons groaned; a hand clutching at his side. 

“You’re ok,” Grif mustered, pulling his hoodie up over his head and pressing it against Simmons’s wound.” You’re gonna be ok.” He repeated, heat pooling in his face as tears threatened to prickle at his eyes. 

Simmons nodded furiously. “Are they gone?” He choked out. 

Grif nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as his chest tightened. “Yea,” He mumbled, looking around the building. 

People had begun getting up, helping others, and calling loved ones with fearful expressions. 

“We gotta get you out of here,” Grif asserted, standing up and hauling Simmons up with him as he wrapped his arm around his shoulder. He turned towards the back entrance, stopping as someone stepped in front of him. 

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?” The person asked him.

Grif shook his head. Couldn’t do that. It was part of the rules. Grif had no birth certificate or any files in the database. They’d be thrown out or arrested. “I got him.” Grif told the man, pushing his way towards the back entrance as he stumbled them into an open alleyway. 

The men that had attempted to rob the place were no longer there, but Grif did watch as cop cars drove by towards the front entrance of the bank.

Grif pulled the car keys from Simmons’s pocket, frowning as he slumped from Grif’s grasp against the far back alleyway wall. 

“No, no, no,” Grif muttered, staring down in shock as he leaned in front of Simmons and pressed the now bloody hoodie into his side. “Come on, Simmons.” He begged, dabbing the hoodie against his side and frantically trying to stop the blood from gushing out. “You have to get up.”

“Can’t.” Simmons mumbled, head tipping over on his shoulder. 

“Yes, you can.” Grif corrected, tears now openly flowing down his cheeks. “You’re gonna be fine, we just have to get you home and then I can stitch you up.” 

“No,” Simmons muttered again, staring Grif dead in the eyes as he reached out to hold his hand. 

“Yes, we can,” Grif told him, lifting his head up. “You have that stupid kit on ansthetics and stuff.” 

Grif frowned as Simmons began laughing hysterically. “You mean anesthetics.” He corrected, delusionia forming at his words as he let his eyes softly close.

“Simmons?” Grif called sharply, panic rising in his voice as blood completely soaked up his hoodie and spilled over, staining his hand and making everything he touched a nauseating sticky mess. “Wake up.” 

Simmons didn’t wake up. 

Grif readjusted the hoodie in his hand, pressing further into his side as if that would help. 

All he knew about blood wounds was that you were supposed to be adding pressure but he was positive that whatever he was doing, was probably making it worse.

But he had to do something. He needed Simmons. Needed him. Simmons was his reason for living; his reason for falling asleep and enduring nightmares and waking up to an empty house because Simmons had already left for work. 

Simmons was everything to him. 

Sure he had Kai, and god, he loved her to death, but Simmons was his life. He was a part of him. It was Grif and Simmons; Simmons and Grif, since they were kids. It had always been that way. They’ve been inseparable for years.

Grif sniffled, tears now blurring his eyes as he snaked a hand around Simmons’s neck. “Simmons, wake up!” He cleared his throat, letting out hurried, panicked breaths. “Wake up asshole! You can’t die like this you self-sacrificing-” 

Simmons slapped his hand away, shooting his eyes open as he lifted his head up. “Stop it,” He chastised tiredly. “I’m awake.”

Grif nodded, a sigh of relief coming out of him as he began getting up, lifting Simmons up with him. “Come on. We have to get you home.” 

* * *

“Jensen?” 

Katie looked up from near the coat rack where she was slipping on her jacket and getting ready to leave. 

It wasn’t often that she was called by her last name and Donut  _ never _ called her that, so color her alarmed when she turned the corner of the small cafe to see Donut in the next room, his hands on his hips and a cautious look on his face. 

Something unsettling pooled in her gut as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Y-yes?” She asked quietly. 

Donut raised a brow. “Have you seen the shop key?” 

Katie thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“It’s gone.” Donut told her, the shortness in his sentences making her even more worried. 

“Where did you see it last?” Katie asked carefully. 

Donut shrugged, dropping his hands to his side as he looked past her. “On my desk.” Donut told her. 

And then Katie got what was happening. 

“I didn’t take it,” She vowed quickly. “I promise, I would never.” 

Donut sighed, looking back towards her. “Are you sure?” He questioned. “You were going through the stuff on it quite thoroughly this morning.” 

Katie bit her lip. She was going through stuff this morning, but only because she was looking for evidence or something. 

When she said nothing, Donut sighed. “Katie, stealing something as important as this is a big offense. I know you’re trying to get into college and I can tell you this doesn’t look good for that.” He told her sternly.

Katie’s heart dropped. 

She didn’t even think about that. 

If she lost her degree, that was it. She wouldn’t get anywhere in her life. She wouldn’t be able to be an engineer or have a good life or support herself because Palamo sure as hell wasn’t going to get a job and move out of his parent’s basement any time soon. 

Anxiety pooled in her gut as she fiddled with the strings of her jacket. “I’m sorry, please I-'' She paused. “I can’t lose my degree.”

Donut sighed and Katie really hoped he’d do her this one favor. She knew she didn’t deserve it, but dangit, she couldn’t lose her degree. This couldn't get into the hands of her college, she couldn’t get fired. 

Why did she do that? It really did look like she was stealing and she bet Donut had to have security cameras in his establishment. 

“I’ll do anything.” She tried again desperately. 

“I’ll fix it.” Donut eased before meeting her eyes. “Now stop snooping around,” He demanded, passing by her into the next room. 

Katie nodded gratefully, clocking out and leaving the store with a quick pace. She sighed as she sat in her car and pulled out her phone. 

**Palamo:** How was work

**Katie:** The investigations off.

Donut smiled as Katie left, sighing to himself as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the allegedly “missing” store key. 

Why’d she make him have to do that?

It wasn't a hard thing for him to do. 

But she was a sweet girl and he hated having to scare her life that. 

* * *

“Simmons?” Grif called, knocking lightly on the doorframe to their bedroom. 

Simmons perked up slightly in their bed, the white bandages Simmons placed around his torso apparent as he laid on top of the bed covers and Grif stepped into the room. 

“Feeling ok still?” Grif asked, moving forward with something in his hands. 

Simmons nodded. “Yea,” he mumbled out, looking away from Grif. 

“I made you soup." Grif offered, presenting him with the bowl in his hands. 

Simmons looked back towards him and raised a brow. “How?” He asked suspiciously. “We don’t have anything in the kitchen that should make it possible for you to know how to cook something.” 

Grif shrugged. “It’s the can stuff.” 

Simmons smiled, enjoying the thought put into the nice gesture as he shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” He explained. “But, thanks.” 

Grif nodded, eyeing the bandages as he placed the hot bowl of soup onto the bedside table. “Are you sure you're ok?” He questioned again. “You’ve been acting weird.” 

Simmons nodded, looking away from him as he rolled onto his side. “I’m fine.” He repeated for the hundredth time that day since they got home. 

Grif sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed as he looked off towards the wall, the same little girl he always saw, sitting there quietly. “Church texted me,” He informed casually. “Said Tucker and the new guy have news about the stuff they found at the Director’s house.” 

“Oh.” 

“They went there to find a reason for Wash being immune, but I guess they found something better.” He told Simmons as he looked over him worriedly and tried to meet his eye.

“Ok,” Simmons affirmed quietly. 

“Anyway, Church wants us at the warehouse to go over it,” Grif concluded. “Think you’re up for it?” 

Simmons nodded, sitting up and quickly moving away from Grif. “Yea, definitely.” He confirmed, stepping out of the room. 

* * *

Grif sighed as they made it to the warehouse. “Ugh, why didn’t we take the car?” He whined. 

Simmons scoffed. “Because you can’t drive and I’m-” He paused. “I’m in no position  _ to  _ drive.”

Grif nodded. It made sense and frankly, he didn’t want Simmons doing anything extra that could risk him getting hurt. “Ready to get a headache the size of Niagara falls?” He joked, grabbing at the doorknob.

Simmons nodded, staying in his spot a few feet away from Grif as he played with a loose string hanging off his bandages, looking at Grif with the most heartbroken expression. 

Grif paused his movement on the door and turned towards Simmons. “Are you coming?” He asked cautiously. 

Simmons nodded. “Yea, I just um-” He paused. “I just need a minute.” He concluded with a smile. 

Grif nodded, turning back towards the door, slightly hurt that Simons wasn’t telling him the thing that seemed to be bothering him.

Grif stepped into the building, giving Simmons a final look as he carefully shut the door behind him and walked into the main room where everyone was gathered. 

“No, Caboose he’s not one of us, he just can deflect our-” Church paused, noticing Grif walk in as he glared his way. “There you are.” He stated irritably. “Where’s Simmons?”

“Outside,” Grif explained. “Today’s been rough, he needs a minute.” 

Church rolled his eyes. “That’s fine.” He muttered, turning towards Washington. “David, I believe you’ve met Grif?”

Wash nodded, slumped in a chair with an entirely new pair of handcuffs attached to one of his wrists and Tucker's wrist. “The one that knocked me upside the head? Yea I remember him.” He grumbled, turning to Tucker. “Uncuff me.” He muttered, out of earshot of Church. "This is fucking ridiculous, how do you have so many of these things?"

Tucker laughed, smiling at him. “Dude, no. Stop asking.” 

Church whipped his head around towards Tucker and Wash, giving them dirty looks as he heard their bickering. “Tell him what happened.” He demanded, gesturing to Grif.

“They met a new friend!” Caboose interrupted, towering over Donut, who was seated on the cushioned couch. 

“No, dude.” Tucker degraded. “He was like us, but he was also a bad guy.” 

Grif raised a brow. “Like us?” 

Tucker nodded. “Magical, we just didn’t know what power he had. He didn’t say. Only that he had a handicap and that he was trying to find the Director.” 

“And then what?” Church asked him, edging him on to the most important part. 

“I found a file of the Director’s paperwork.” Tucker told him. 

“Technically I did.” Washington corrected, turning to look at him. 

“Last time I checked, you didn’t have the talking stick.” Tucker quipped. 

“What stick?” Wash exasperated. “There is no stick.” 

“Oh, I got a stick,” Tucker commented slyly, a grin forming on his face. “Bow-chicka-”

“Oh, my, god.” Washington groaned, interrupting him. 

“What were the files about?” Grif questioned, glancing towards Simmons as he walked in and stood next to him; smiling lightly.

Grif smiled back before looking at the group.

“I don’t know,” Tucker told them. “I didn’t read them. We were kind of too busy being killed.” 

Washington wasn’t an idiot. He knew the reason Tucker told him not to tell everyone about the Church thing was because he didn’t want Church to know. Wash assumed they’d both die never knowing. 

Especially since Tucker already took the file containing the Church information and folded it up; stuffing it in his pocket, probably to be discarded later.

What Wash didn’t know, was why it was so important? Sure, he had been told the handicaps were annoying, but if Tucker somehow gave it away, he could somehow take it back, right?

Unless Tucker didn’t want to take his handicap back. 

“Ok, but what did you do with the guy?” Grif demanded to know.

Tucker shrugged. “Knocked him out and tied him up.” He said with a wink. Wash rolled his eyes as Tucker continued speaking. “Figured, we blame you-know-who’s death on him and get the evil guy thrown into prison. Kill two birds with one stone.” 

“Who’s you-know-who?” Washington asked sternly. 

“Detective Georgia.” Caboose informed dumbfoundedly. 

“Caboose!” 

“Tucker!” Washington cursed, the anger visible on his face.

“Alright, stop arguing.” Church snapped, turning to look at Grif. “Where the fuck is Simmons?” 

Grif raised a brow, confusion coursing through him as he turned around and stepped aside from Simmons. Because maybe Church couldn’t see the smaller male behind him. “He’s right there.” Grif bit back, turning to look at Church. 

Church furrowed his brow and looked behind Grif before his eyes landed on him again. “Where?” He questioned, staring at the larger man like he was a lunatic.

Grif bit his lip frustratedly, turning to look back at Simmons as he gestured a hand his way. “Are you blind?” He hissed. “He’s right fucking there!” 

Grif stared at Simmons, watching as blood flashed around his midsection as he focused on it and flashed away as he blinked.

Grif stared and lowered his hand. 

Simmons smiled sheepishly at him. 

He knew. 

“He’s right-” Grif mumbled quietly. “He was right there.” He choked out, his eyes failing him as tears prickled at the corners from the realization. 

And suddenly the room grew sharply silent as Grif stared at empty space.

He could hear Donut sigh behind him and start to get up. “Oh, Grif…” He consoled quietly, stepping forward and reaching out his hand before retracting it quickly, unsure about touching him at the moment.

“Dude,” Tucker marveled empathetically. “What happened to Simmons?” 

Grif swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of Simmons as his expression grew more solemn by the second. “He was shot,” Grif explained quietly. “But then he got up and I thought he was fine.” 

Simmons watched Grif’s expression falter as a tear streamed down his cheek. “I’m sorry.” He sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Grif looked down at the ground, unable to watch as the view of the afterlife leaked into his vision and blood gushed more violently down Simmons’s side. 

“I’m sorry.”


	11. liberté

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos, I really appreciate it. I had no idea so many people would enjoy this story. <3
> 
> Anyways, here's another chapter.

_ 5 months ago.  _

Junior grinned, placing the last lego block onto the top of his two-foot-tall brick skyscraper.

Caboose glanced over his own lego brick creation to look up at the height of Junior’s own building. “I-” He gaped, scoffing a little. “That is so tall!” He marveled excitedly, looking towards Church who was standing near Junior’s bed with his arms crossed over his chest as he talked to Tucker who was seated on the bed itself. 

“Church!” Caboose called with a grin. “Church look! Church! Hey Church!” 

Junior glanced his father’s way, a smile on his face as he waited for the adults to notice what he had built. 

Church looked over at them, shushing Caboose as he turned back to Tucker, leaving Junior to hear the butt-end of their conversation. 

“Well, the cash the Director left behind is only getting us so far. Simmons said we’ve got about two weeks before we go completely dry.” Church stated. 

“Dad look!” Junior called, sitting up straight as he attempted to grab his dad’s attention. 

Tucker rolled his eyes at Church. “Ok, can’t we just get a loan or something? Wasn’t that something Simmons said people did?”

Church nodded. “Yea, people can, but  _ we _ can’t. We don’t have jobs and they can refuse a loan grant-”

“Dad!” Junior tried again. 

Tucker glanced his way, looking at his tower. “That’s great, Junior.” He praised quickly, turning back to Church. “It doesn’t have to be from a bank.” He compromised. “I see moneylenders all the ti-”

“You mean a loan shark?” Church questioned, interrupting him. “I mean, sure, but it’s risky.” 

“Dad!” Junior huffed, getting up from the floor to approach his dad. “You barely even looked.” He whined. 

Tucker turned to Junior then, a light smile on his face. “I look at it.” He assured, turning towards Church as he picked himself up from the bed. “We’ll figure it out later.” He told him casually as he began walking over to where Junior and Caboose were playing. 

Junior sat smack down on the carpet where he had been sitting earlier. He showed his dad his tower with pride and paid little mind to the worried glances Uncle Church and his dad kept exchanging. 

_ Present-day ... _

“Who?” Church demanded to know, stepping towards Grif. “How?” 

Grif shook his head, still staring at empty space. 

“Church,” Donut eased, putting a hand on Church’s shoulder and ushering him back. “Give him a minute.”

Church sighed, letting his hands collapse to his side as he looked torn between wanting to intervene and wanting to listen to Donut. “Fine,” He finally decided, turning towards Caboose. “Come on buddy, it’s bedtime.”

Caboose whined, half-asleep on the floor. “Five more minutes.” He muttered tiredly. 

“No way,” Church told him. “You’re falling asleep on the ground, get up.” 

Caboose nodded, standing up and rubbing at his eyes as he followed Church. “G’night Brownie.” He mumbled, walking away. 

Tucker nodded, standing up in his seat and pulling Wash up with him as Church and Caboose walked away. “I think Church has the right idea,” Tucker told Donut, before turning to look at Wash. “Come on you big baby, it’s bedtime.” 

Washington groaned as Tucker yanked him away towards the spare bedroom he slept in last night. “Don’t call me that.” He hissed tiredly. 

Donut sighed as Church left to tuck in Caboose and Tucker dragged Wash away to ‘tuck him in’ as well, leaving Grif to continue staring off into empty space. 

“Grif?” Donut questioned, his voice soft. 

“Uh-huh?”

“Are you ok?” Donut asked. 

Grif shook his head. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Donut consoled quietly, placing his hand on Grif’s shoulder lightly. 

Grif shook him off. “Nuh-uh,” He muttered, turning to look at him with wet eyes. “Don’t do that.” He mumbled. “He- Don’t call him dead.” 

Donut sighed. “Grif, he’s gone.” 

Grif said nothing and turned back to stare off into empty space.

Donut watched him for a second longer, concern plastering his face until he spoke again. “Do you want to stay at my place tonight?” He asked quietly. “It can stay between us. I have an extra bed.”

Grif shook his head. “I’m good.” He assured. 

Donut nodded, pausing and unsure of what to do. “Ok, just call me if you need anything.” He added, turning to move, but not moving just yet. Still watching as Grif stared off into empty space. “Get a good night’s sleep, Grif.” Donut advised worriedly, before turning to leave. 

* * *

“Sorry about your friend,” Washington muttered out as Tucker ushered Wash onto the spare room’s bed and pulled the key from his pocket. 

“It’s ok,” Tucker told him sadly. “Probably not for Grif, though.” 

“How was Grif able to see him?” Wash then asked, standing near the bed.

“He can see the dead.” Tucker told him as Wash sat down on the mattress. 

“Oh. You guys don’t seem like very good emotional support.” Washington noted as Tucker undid the handcuff lock on his own hand. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Tucker assured. “You and Caboose had to be put to bed first while the adults talk about important stuff.” He teased lightly, leaving Wash to be able to tell that he was being serious. 

Washington rolled his eyes. Was he really being compared to Caboose? “I’m not your pet, Tucker.” He hissed as Tucker slapped the open handcuff onto the bed frame, keeping him stuck to the bed. 

Tucker pressed a hand against his chest, mumbling out a hummed response as he leaned down onto Wash and breathed in deeply; inhaling his scent. 

Washington froze, staring down at the man on his chest. “What are you doing?” He asked from the sudden weight and heat now on him. 

Tucker sat back up as he got up from the bed. “You stink.” He commented. 

Washington rolled his eyes. “You won’t let me shower!” He exasperated annoyingly. 

Tucker furrowed his brows. “I offered you a shower.” He retorted. 

“No,” Wash hissed. “You offered to shower with me cuffed to you.” 

Tucker smiled. “Same thing.” He grinned. 

Washington shook his head, watching as Tucker walked towards the door. “Not the same thing,” He bit back quickly. Tucker didn’t say anything, only stepped closer to the door. 

“Wait, Tucker, Wait!” Wash then called desperately before Tucker got too close to leaving. 

“What?” Tucker questioned, leaning on the doorframe. 

“Please uncuff me,” Washington begged. “This is seriously ridiculous.” 

Tucker smiled, leaning on the open doorway before grabbing the door’s handle and backing out of the room. “Goodnight, Wash.” He sang, shutting the door behind him and leaving Wash alone, handcuffed to the bed, in the dark room. 

Tucker laughed to himself, turning the corner of the warehouse when he was suddenly slammed against a nearby wall; held in that position with a firm arm pinned against his chest. 

Tucker struggled for a moment until his vision cleared and he realized it was Grif holding him against the steel wall. 

Tucker’s face twisted into confusion as he glared at the man in front of him. “Grif what are you-?”

“You wanna see your son again?” Grif questioned harshly, a different type of fire in his eyes that Tucker hadn’t seen in a long while.

Tucker nodded vigorously. “Of course I do.”

Grif stared at him, ignoring the demons that now surrounded him. He ignored the fact that Simmons’s ghost was behind him, pestering him to stop. He ignored it all and focused on the person under him.

“Then help me revive Simmons.” He spat.

Tucker looked slightly stunned at Grif’s new motivation but smiled anyway. “Now we’re talking.” He mused with a grin. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need a live body.” 

* * *

Washington sighed, testing the durability of the restraints for probably the hundredth time that morning. 

Or at least, he assumed it was morning. He couldn’t really tell in the room he was in as there were no windows. 

He was getting sick of this shit. It was hard to sleep and obnoxious. Also, all his movements were dictated by someone else, which would be annoying all on its own, but was worse because Tucker was the one dictating it. 

To make matters worse, he was getting a burn around the cuffed wrist where he had been tugging at it fruitlessly; the skin now red. 

At first, he didn’t struggle because he had no choice. As angry as he was then, he was outnumbered. And then he didn’t struggle because he was confused and wanted answers.

The fact that magic was apparently a thing was hard enough to take in as it was, but the fact that apparently, it didn’t work on him? That made him want answers or at the very least, an explanation. 

So he endured all of it for a little while longer. 

But after last night, he was beyond wanting answers. He no longer cared about that. He just wanted out. 

But he knew the type of situation he was in. As much as he trusted Tucker; viewing him as pretty much harmless- he knew, Tucker, along with the rest of them, didn’t trust him. Which to be fair, they were pretty right to think. Washington had embarked on a huge criminal discovery and had no reason not to head straight for the police. 

Something stopped him from wanting to do that, however. He didn’t really know what it was. Maybe a curiosity about his new reality or a newfound empathy for these people. Maybe a fondness to a specific few. 

Either way, Wash knew the only way out of this was if he got them put into prison or if they killed him. 

Washington winced as the door to the bedroom opened; light blaring through the previously dark room. 

But maybe, just maybe not all of them had to. 

Tucker’s face poked into vision as he stepped in and flicked on the bedroom light. 

It truly depended on whether or not they all engaged in the murder that they had been caught for. And even if a few of them were, they could just rat out the other ones and save themselves. 

Which meant one of them had an out if they wanted it. 

If played right, maybe that one person could be spared. 

Tucker sauntered over, a smile on his face as he climbed onto the bed; rips from his tattered jeans sprawling out on the mattress as he stopped just above Washington so that he was straddling his lap. 

“Tucker?” Washington questioned, blinking his eyes awake. 

“Mhmm?”

“Don’t sit on me like that.” 

Tucker laughed, leaning back. “Wanna hang out with me today?” 

Washington raised a brow, no longer complaining about the other man’s positioning. Tucker wasn’t heavy and he was way shorter than Wash anyway. “I don’t think hanging out means what you think it does.” He commented. 

Tucker nodded. “Right well, too bad. We gotta go back and get ‘O’Malley so you can frame him for killing Georgia. But you can't turn him in yet because I need him.”

Washington sighed heavily. “Tucker, you can’t frame Georgia’s death on ‘O’Malley.” He stated, matter-of-factly

Tucker pouted. “Why not?” He demanded to know.

“A murder needs motive and connection,” Washington explained, moving his legs and ushering Tucker to get up off of him. When Tucker obliged, scooting back; Wash sat up, moving back towards the bed frame as he spoke again. “And ‘O’Malley had none of that.”

Tucker pondered over Wash’s words for a moment, seeming actually interested. “What else does it need?” He asked. 

“I’m not helping you with this,” Washington concluded, sensing instantly what Tucker was doing. 

Tucker huffed. “Lame,” He muttered, thinking for a second longer. “Georgia was snooping around the drug ring,” He thought out loud. “So in order to have a proper motive, you’re saying I need to frame a guy from the drug ring!” He exclaimed as he began getting up from the bed.

Washington jerked the handcuffed to the bed. “No, I’m not-” He began saying.

“Thanks, Wash!” Tucker told him as he began stepping away from the bed. 

Washington cursed silently, yanking his hand in the cuff’s grasp. “Tucker, wait!” He called out worriedly.

Tucker stopped, turning on his heel to face Wash. “What?” He groaned. 

Washington scoffed, raising a brow and gesturing to his cuffed hand. 

Tucker stared at it for a second, thinking over what his next move should be before he sighed and moved back over to the bed; climbing back onto Wash and regaining his positioning on his lap. 

“I have no idea why you’re doing this,” Wash told Tucker as he dug for the key in his jean pocket. “Everything about this is illegal and if you keep this up, you will be going to go to prison.” He stressed, watching Tucker examine the key lazily in his hand. 

“Why should you care?” Tucker then questioned, looking up at him. 

“Because you’re better than this.” Wash told him. 

“You don’t know me.” Tucker retorted. 

“I don’t have to.”

Tucker’s face softened into something he couldn’t really make out as he looked down at Washington. “This is my life, Wash,” Tucker told him and Washington knew there was a deeper message that Tucker was trying to convey in just those 5 words.

“I know, you grew into this,” Wash confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean you have to stay in it.”

Tucker sighed, averting Washington’s eye before he reached into his pocket and pulled out an old trap phone. He held it in his hands, the key dangling firmly on his finger as he punched a few numbers into the phone and slid the device into Wash’s pocket. “My number is on there now.” Tucker mumbled, leaning forward towards Wash’s cuffed wrist with the key. 

Washington turned to watch, the anticipation of the freedom he had taken for granted rising as Tucker unlocked the cuff; letting it fall to the bed. 

Washington lowered his wrist from the bed and was ready to move when Tucker put a hand on his chest. “Don’t leave, please-” He begged, desperation and uncertainty visible on his face. 

How lonely was Tucker here?

Wash had assumed he was so open because that was just how he might have been, but- Tucker didn’t seem to be that way with other people. How many friends did he have besides the people he spent his life with? How many times a day did he get an actual, valid, human connection? Washington guessed very little since Tucker had been clamoring around him so much. 

“Take your shower,” Tucker continued saying, getting up from his lap. “We’ll talk later.” He finished, turning to leave the room. 

* * *

“Thank you for being here.” 

Grif readjusted his positioning uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be anywhere. Not in this timeline anyway, he wanted to be back two days ago to when Simmons and him had just started figuring out what they really wanted to do in their lives. 

He wanted to be back then. 

It was the first time he had seen Simmons genuinely excited about something too. 

He wanted one fucking thing and it was yanked away from him right before he got it.

“I know you’re going through a lot and we really appreciate it.” 

Grif looked up at Simmons’s boss, who he knew as Carolina. “Thanks.” He mumbled out. 

Grif had been at Simmons’s work before; used to hang out a lot despite everything going on. Carolina he had only met just recently, but the chief of police before her knew Grif and hated it when he came by. He thought he was a distraction. 

“Simmons was a good man.” Sarge agreed next to her. 

It was the first thing he had ever said to Grif without yelling. 

“He died a hero,” Carolina added. “It’s all over the news.”

Grif nodded. “Good,” He muttered solemnly. 

It was all Simmons had ever wanted anyway. 

“Can you tell us again what the guy looked like?” Carolina asked him, obviously not trying to pressure Grif, but definitely trying to get information. 

“I didn’t see one of the guys' faces,” Grif reiterated. “The other guy was shorter and smaller and had orange and dark brown hair and a few piercings.” He muttered. 

Carolina nodded, scribbling something on pen and paper. “Anything else?” She asked him. 

“His name was Felix, or his code name was I guess.” Grif managed. 

Carolina nodded and Sarge scoffed. 

“What a lame name,” He muttered. 

Grif nodded and Carolina flipped her notebook over, looking at Grif. “Thanks for all your help.” She praised. “I understand Simmons was one of our younger detective’s, did he have a will at the ready?”

Grif shook his head. “No. Doesn’t matter anyway, I’m pretty much his only family.” 

Carolina nodded. “We’re throwing a memorial for him soon, you should come.”

Grif nodded. He didn’t want to accept that he was dead. Not when he was quietly sitting right next to him, too guilty to speak. “Yea, maybe.” He agreed. 

“That’s all,” Carolina concluded. “We’ll call you in again if we have any further questions.” 

Grif nodded, getting up from the police station seat as he turned to head for the door. 

“Stay safe, Grif!” Carolina called after him. 

Grif shook off the kind reminder, stomping his way out of the police station and into Simmons’s car, with a very quiet Simmons left following after him. 

Grif leaned against the cushioned vehicle’s front seat and slammed the front door closed as he shakingly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette; being quick to light it as Simmons watched from the passenger seat. 

Grif took a deep inhale from the cigarette, glancing at Simmons from the corner of his eyes, before turning to look at him directly. “Say something!” He demanded, blowing smoke out as he talked. 

Simmons shrugged, facing away from him as he leaned his head on the car window. 

Grif sighed, dropping his arm to his side and looking up at the roof of the car as ash speckled into the car’s cup holders. “Tell me not to smoke in your car, or that your thankful you got what you wanted and died a fucking hero. Because apparently, that was more fucking important than staying with me!” 

Grif glanced over at him when he noticed Simmons staring at him again; a large bloodstain visible at his side. 

“Say something.” Grif pleaded. 

Simmons opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it when no words came out. 

Grif looked to him expectantly before sighing. “Fine.” He muttered. 

* * *

“Church?” Tucker called, knocking lightly on the door to his friend’s bedroom. 

When he didn’t get a response, he frowned irritably and turned the knob, pushing the door open and stepping in without warning. 

Tucker looked around the room. It was dark as fuck and it reeked. Tucker sighed, spotting a lump of blankets on the bed as he flicked on the light switch. 

“Wake up, asshole.” He demanded, looking towards Church who was laid down on his bed, his arms over his face. 

Church groaned, rolling over on the bed and wincing at the bright light. “What the fuck?” He gripped, rubbing at his eyes.”I’m awake. I’ve been awake.” He slurred, grabbing at a pillow on his bed and placing it over his face to block out the light.

Tucker nodded. “Sure,” He noted sarcastically. “Where’s Caboose?”

“Donut took him for the day or whatever,” Church answered, his voice low and reaction time slow. 

Tucker raised a brow, looking towards Church’s bedside table and seeing a tipped over bottle on it. He understood what the smell was now. “Are you drunk?” He questioned, stepping further into the room and towards the bedside table where he lifted up the bottle and inspected it. 

“It’s like 10 in the morning…” Tucker trailed off, looking towards his friend as he lowered the pillow from his face.

He looked fucking tired. 

Church sighed. “So?” He mumbled begrudgingly, leaning towards Tucker and taking the bottle from his hands. “You’re not shit, you can’t tell me what to do.” He hissed, with a known assurance. 

“Is this because of Simmons?” Tucker asked cautiously. “Damn man, I didn’t know you guys were close.” 

Church sighed, shaking his head and taking a sip from the pungent liquid in the bottle. There wasn’t much, Tucker noted; a quarter of it had spilled onto the floor. 

“No,” Church muttered, lowering the bottle and looking towards Tucker. “I just-” He sighed. “I keep seeing shit, Tucker.” He mumbled tiredly, staring him dead in the eyes. “Shit that I know isn’t there and I can’t stop it.” 

Tucker swallowed the lump in his throat, guilt consuming him as he quickly looked away from Church’s gaze

He did this. He should have admitted to it right then and there, but he didn’t. “You’re drunk,” He said instead, denying Church of his belief and support. He felt bad about it, but he couldn’t morally help him through it when he knew it was his fault. “It’ll wear off and you’ll be fine.” 

“M’not gonna be fine.” Church mumbled back, looking away. 

Tucker nodded, now uneasy. “Yea, um. I actually came in here to ask if you would care if I got one of your guys thrown into prison.” He said quickly, changing the subject

Church laughed. “Fuck if I care,” He exasperated, tossing the bottle aside and grabbing the nearby pillow, flopping it over his head again. “Do whatever you want.” He muttered sourly through the fluffy cushion.

Tucker nodded, standing by his bed sheepishly. “Right, well nice talk.” He said awkwardly as he turned for the door. “See you later.” He mumbled, rushing out of the room. 

* * *

Washington fumbled for his keys, pulling them from the ignition on his rental car as he pushed open the driver’s door and stepped out of the small vehicle. 

Taking little to no consideration after Tucker uncuffed him, Wash left. No one seemed to be awake in the warehouse and if they were, they were in their separate rooms. So Wash very easily left and retrieved his car from the Donut hole and then swiftly drove it to the motel he was staying at. 

Washington stepped out of the car and reached for his motel room key as he made his way up the concrete stairs connecting to his room. He swiftly inserted the key into the lock and opened the door, sighing of relief as he stepped into his room and shut the door behind him; finally alone.

The room smelt depersonalized and was luckily in the exact way that he left it. Which meant that these people had no idea where he lived. 

Washington tossed his keys, wallet, and gun (which he had easily found in Tucker’s bedside table along with an alarming amount of explicit magazines) and tossed them onto the shitty motel bed. 

After that, David instantly headed for the shower, being quick to start the water and pull off his shirt. 

To be honest, he had no idea what he was going to do about- any of what was happening. 

For starters, Wash miraculously came across an inhuman anomaly and as much as he hoped it was all a dream, it was highly unlikely as he hadn’t woken up yet and it had been days. 

The shock was still new to him but had been dying off as he slowly learned more about these odd people.

He hadn't even officially met many. He only knew them as they had been briefly described to him by Tucker. Wash knew most of their handicaps, but still barely any of the ‘power’ aspects. To be honest, David didn’t really care all that much. 

When he originally met them he had intended on turning them in. Part of him still wanted to, but now that he knew them better, he knew; no prison in the history of the world could keep them locked up for very long. 

And as much as Wash hated to admit it, he cared too much about these people’s well-being to expose them for what they were and either risk people experimenting on them to the point of self-destruction or risk people thinking he was a lunatic. He wouldn’t ruin his own life and be tossed into an insane asylum just because he exposed these people out of pettiness. 

All he knew was what was right in front of him. And currently, that was the shower and two-day odor he desperately needed to wash off. 

Wash reached for his belt, ready to tug it off before his phone started ringing. He glanced over to the bed and stepped over, leaning down and picking up the device.

Noticing Carolina’s name flashing across the screen, he swiped accept and put the phone up to his ear. “Hey.” He greeted as he made his way back into the bathroom. 

“Hi, Wash. Just wanted to check up on you. How are you doing?”

Washington paused, again, he hadn’t decided what he was going to do about his situation yet, but he did know outing the group was something he would not be doing. At least not right away. “I’m fine.” He responded. “How are you?”

“Good,” Carolina answered through the phone. “Got a lead yet?”

Washington shut the bathroom door behind him, leaning back against the sink counter. “Maybe, I’m still checking it out though.” He answered through the phone. “I’ve also got a vandalism tip against a few kids if you wanna stick that on York.”

Carolina chuckled. “Oh, he’ll love that.” She drew out sarcastically. “How’s the motel?”

Wash laughed. “Shitty.” He answered.

“That much was expected,” Carolina responded, fondness in her voice. 

Carolina paused and Wash could tell there was something more she wanted to tell him. “Actually, there’s another thing.” She stated solemnly through the phone. “One of our newer detectives just died.”

“Oh.”

“Private Richard Simmons.” She informed. “Shot during an attempted robbery.”

And that’s when it clicked. Wash honestly felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. Simmons was the same Simmons he met very briefly at the police station. Wash hadn’t even considered that as him until he heard Carolina refer to him as a detective. 

And then the pieces came together. 

He knew the name was familiar, just couldn’t pinpoint where he heard it, and honestly? What were the chances that someone from the group that had been trapped in a house for years got into the police force? It seemed extremely unlikely. But then again, Wash was sure Tucker could’ve made it work somehow. 

And then Wash had a sour thought. What if Tucker already had the entire police station under his absurd control and all this ‘pretending like there was a threat’ was just some obscure way of fucking with Wash. 

Tucker did confess to him that he talked about things with Church and the others and purposely put Wash out of the room so he wouldn’t hear. 

It left Wash to wonder just how powerful his magic was and just how much control he had over the things surrounding him. 

“Wash?” 

Washington redirected his attention back to the phone call. “I’m still here.” He stated. “I- I’m sorry that happened.” 

“Yea, we're holding a memorial service for him soon. You should come. I know you didn’t know him all too well, but it’d be a good chance to meet the other officers.”

Washington nodded. “Sounds good.” He stated. “I’ll be there.” 

“Alright well, I'll let you go,” Carolina concluded through the phone, no-doubtedly with a smile on her face. “I’ll make sure York gets the tip on the vandalism and I’ll text you the information for the memorial.” 

Washington nodded. “Sounds good.”

It was only 30 minutes later when Wash had hung up the phone, taken his shower, and gotten into clean clothes; falling back on his bed with a sigh as he used the towel in his hands to dry out the rest of the water from his hair. Tossing the towel into the pile where he put the rest of his dirty laundry, he rubbed at his eyes. 

Tucker would be back at the warehouse soon and then would see that he left. 

Wash didn’t know what he would do then. 

To be honest, Wash knew Tucker was better than this and he understood why he chose the life he did. He was forced into it. The good part about that was that he could get out of it if he wanted to. Wash wanted him too.

It’d be easy too. 

If Tucker admitted to the crimes and ratted out the other people involved, he could get a pardon and not have to go to prison for the murders. 

Wash knew that there was no prison they couldn’t escape from, but still. At least Tucker would be out of it.

Washington sighed, looking towards the door. He didn’t want to go back. He was still angry with Tucker for the mistreatment, but it didn’t mean Wash wanted Tucker to be forced to keep living the life he was. 

* * *

When Tucker got back to the warehouse, Wash was gone.

Of course, he was gone. 

Tucker cursed himself for trying to think any differently. He just really didn’t think he would leave. He ~~thought~~ , hoped, that Wash would want to stay with him. For answers, for Tucker, for something. 

He was obviously hoping for too much.

He just thought that maybe, they kind of had something. Which was dumb and he hated that he fell for it. Because no, of course, they didn’t. All the reassuring words and deeper conversations were all probably just a way to get Tucker to let Wash go. 

And he fucking fell for it. 

Of course, he fell for the first person that had given him any sort of attention, outside of the idiots he grew up with. He saw a new person that knew about his magic and felt assurance in that and let the tiniest bit of affection pull him in. He knew nothing about liking a person and that became increasingly clear with Wash’s leaving. 

He hadn’t liked Tucker. 

And Tucker was stupid for thinking any different. 

He hadn’t ever had much connection with the people of the outside world. And then he met one, who already knew all about the big secret that prevented Tucker from knowing people, and he thought that was amazing. 

Never again.

Tucker sighed, grumbling to himself as he tightened the ropes around Rex’s wrists. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Rex tried to assure. 

Tucker shook his head, reaching into the man’s back pockets and pulling out his wallet and keys. (He learned his lesson from Wash’s original escape) “Shut up.” He hissed, stepping away from the same chair they had Wash tied to when they first encountered him. 

Tucker tossed the wallet and keys sloppily onto the table next to him as he leaned back against the table and let his head fall back with a frustrated sigh. 

“I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.” Rex persuaded, a begging tone in his words. “I swear, just don’t kill me.” He babbled nonsensically. "I've been helpful before,"

Tucker looked down at him and glared, pushing away from the table and stepping towards him. He grabbed his throat with both hands, anger rising in his gut. 

Not necessarily directed at Rex.

“I said shut the fuck up!” Tucker hissed, his eyes glowing a bright teal as he released the chokehold he had on the pathetic man squirming under him. 

Rex gasped for air as oxygen now flew in freely through his lungs; the aggressive hold on his neck leaving it slightly sore. He opened his mouth to speak and was semi-surprised when no words came out. He wanted to speak, but something stopped the words from coming. 

Tucker gave him the side-eye, knowing it was his command that prevented Rex from speaking. He then backed up towards the table, anger visible on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the person in front of him. “Speak.” He demanded.

“What do you want?” Rex questioned, out of breath. 

Before Tucker could respond, he paused, hearing ringing coming from his back pocket. 

Something then snapped in him because no one ever called him. There was no reason to. Especially not when Church was in the next room and texting existed. And the only other person that did have his number at the moment, that couldn’t text because of the phone they had, would be Wash. 

Tucker stepped towards the table as he dug into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. When he saw Wash’s name flashing in bold letters, he quickly answered and put the phone to his ear. 

“What?” Tucker demanded to know as he leaned back against the table in the small warehouse room. 

He could hear Wash clear his throat on the other end before speaking. “I’m coming back.” He told him quietly. 

Tucker paused, his anger simmering as he hadn’t expected to hear that. “You are?”

“Yes,” Washington spoke evenly through the phone. “But only under a few conditions.” 

Tucker nodded, bringing his thumb up to his mouth to bite anxiously at his nail. “What kind of conditions?” He questioned. 

“No more handcuffs,” Wash told him sternly. 

“Never?”

“Never.” Wash reiterated. 

Tucker smiled to himself. “Not even in the bedroom?”

It was quiet for a minute on Wash’s end and Tucker was sure there would be some leeway to the rule. Tucker sighed as Wash responded with a hard, “No.” 

Tucker nodded. “Is that it?” He asked, glancing towards Rex who was staring at him with a fearful expression. 

“And I’m allowed to leave whenever I want,” Wash stated. “None of this prisoner and guard stuff. I move around at my own free will.”

“Um, ok.” Tucker agreed. “Sounds fair.” He muttered, looking towards Rex who was staring at him still. Tucker glared at him, his eyes flashing teal as he forced Rex to look in a different direction. Rex obliged easily, turning to face the opposite wall as he gripped the armrests attached to his seat. 

“And I want to know about everything,” Wash concluded. “All the different magic, handicaps, all of it.” 

Tucker sighed. “Wash, I don’t know if-”

“It’s important, Tucker,” Washington spoke through the phone. “I can’t help you if I don’t understand.” 

Help him? Tucker did not need helping and he didn’t need it from Wash. 

He held back his thoughts however as he silently agreed. “Deal.” He confirmed. 

It was silent on Wash’s end before he answered, more life in his voice. “Ok, I’ll be over in 10.” 

Tucker smiled, hanging up the call and tucking his phone into his back pocket as he looked towards Rex. Stepping away from the table, he got closer to the chair, watching as Rex studied his every movement; still unable to turn his head from its signal direction. 

“I want you to clean up a mess for me,” Tucker informed, leaning in front of him with a devilish grin.


	12. Tromperie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do people write any amount of smut with a straight face. I can't do it. XD
> 
> Anyways, here's a new chapter :3

_ 4 Months ago. _

Simmons groaned, rubbing at his face as he looked Church’s way. “This is why I told you borrowing money was a bad idea!” He exasperated, anger simmering at his words.

“Ok, well to be fair, he didn’t say he’d double the amount owed after a week.” Tucker compiled lazily. “That was never part of the agreement.” 

“HE’S A LOAN SHARK!” Simmons exasperated. “He lies!” 

“All of you relax, please.” Donut pleaded, extending a hand towards a furious Simmons; his shoes padding against the warehouse floor. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“Of course you say that,” Church grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have the cafe, you’re not the one in a hole.” 

Donut sighed, turning around to look at Church. “We’re all in this guy’s hole together.” He eased, Church giving him a weird look. “And we’ll all get out of it together.” Donut then assured, glancing back towards Simmons. 

Simmons nodded slightly, wanting to believe in Donut’s positivity. “Ok, we can um-” He paused, thinking over his options. “You guys would probably have to get actual jobs, but over time we can pay back more and more. Chip off the total amount little by little.”

“Or we can just sell Church’s kidneys.” Tucker offered with a grin. 

Church rolled his eyes. “We’re not doing that,” He bit harshly. “We’ll just have to pay what we can at the time that we can. What can he really even do against all of us?”

_ Present-day... _

Wash pushed open the steel door to the large warehouse. He knew there was a quicker way in on the opposite side of the building through a garage door that he had seen when he was parking his car behind the building, but there was no way of telling if the door was even unlocked. 

Stepping through the doorway, he looked around the main front room. He didn’t exactly know where Tucker’s room was or where he would be in the large complex, but he did know the way to the room he had been kept in for a while. 

Washington began waking towards that direction until screaming from a nearby room caused him to stop in his tracks. Wash turned, glancing over at the room he heard the noise come from as he curiously stepped towards it. 

Washington got closer and began recognizing the area of the warehouse. It was near the room where he was first held in when he injured Church. Wash spotted the room and jogged quickly over to it as he stopped at the doorway. 

Tucker was in the room, near the desk as he rearranged a bloody item he had previously set down.

The room was exactly as Wash had remembered it. The walls were the same, the shelf in the back kept its contents in place and the chair with the ropes still sat in the middle. Only this time, instead of Wash being tied to the chair, there was a scrawnier man with spikey brown hair taking his place. 

Washington froze, still lingering in the doorway when Tucker noticed him. 

“What are you doing?!” Washington demanded to know. 

Tucker smiled at him, dropping what he was doing to walk over to Wash. “Nothing much,” He answered, dumbfoundedly and casual. “What about you?”

Washington gawked at him, a confused look on his face as the man tied to the chair started yelling. 

“Help! This guy’s a lunatic!” He screamed horrifically.

Tucker sighed, his shoulders dropping irritably as he frowned, looking at Wash. “Hold on one sec,” He told him before turning around and stepping towards the man tied to the chair. “Unless you want one of these screwdrivers going under your fingernails,” Tucker threatened, pointing behind him at the array of tools, the garage-like room held. “I suggest you shut up!”

The man shut his mouth quickly and Tucker turned back to Wash. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Washington did a double-take between the man on the chair and Tucker before stifling his expression and giving Tucker a horrified look. “Who is that!?” He exasperated, gesturing towards the guy on the chair.

“Oh, that’s Rex.”

Washington sputtered, raising a brow at Tucker. Because that did not answer his question. “Tucker, you can’t just go around tying people to chairs!”

Tucker frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t lecture me in front of my hostage.” He quipped. 

Washington deadpanned, looking between Rex and Tucker before grabbing Tucker’s wrist and pulling him out of the room and off to the side. It wasn’t hard. If being handcuff to Tucker for two days taught him anything, it was how much force caused the man to move.

“Hey, stop it.” Tucker hissed, shaking him off.

“Who is this guy?” Wash whisper-shouted at him. 

“It’s one of Church’s guys from the drug ring. Remember?” Tucker reminded him. “You’re gonna turn him in for Georgia’s murder.”

Wash shook his head, glaring at Tucker as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No. No way.” He deflected. “I’m not helping you with this.”

Tucker groaned, leaning his head back frustratedly. “Ughhh. Then what am I supposed to do?” He exasperated. 

“Release him!”

Tucker returned his gaze on him, an unimpressed look on his face. “I meant about Georgia.” He deadpanned. 

Washington furrowed his brows, looking at Tucker with a crazed expression. “I will talk to you about that,” He began saying. “But right now, you need to get back in there and let that guy go!” He commanded. 

Tucker whined, shifting his weight on his feet obnoxiously. “Wash you are ruining everything.”

“Now!”

Tucker sighed, glaring at Wash stubbornly before he walked back into the room, grumbling to himself.

Tucker stepped into the room, paying little mind to Rex as Rex watched his every movement. Tucker sauntered over to the table with the tools and reached for a nearby knife to cut the ropes with.

Tucker noticed it was the same knife he used to kill Georgia. 

Tucker held it in his hands for a second and inspected it, turning it over a few times before he reached next to him and grabbed a clean cloth. He wrapped the cloth around the handle of the weapon and cleaned it thoroughly. He then held it in his grip, making sure his skin didn’t touch the knife, and walked over to Rex.

Smiling, he leaned in front of him and reached back, sawing through the ropes with the knife; making sure to be extra loud so that Wash could hear him in the next room. When the ropes fell to the floor, Tucker wrapped the cloth around the knife and then slid the knife into the back of Rex’s pants and pulled his jacket over it; covering the handle. 

When Rex made a move to shift, Tucker pressed his hand against his shoulder and stepped back, staring Rex dead in the eyes; his eyes flashing bright teal. 

_ The knife in your pants belongs to you.  _

_ Yours. _

Rex stared at him, not moving as he looked at his eyes.

_ Yours. Yours. Yours.  _

_ You.  _

_ You killed Georgia.  _

Rex nodded, shutting his mouth. 

“Stand up.” Tucker demanded sternly, causing Wash to look over at him from the hallway. 

Rex stood up. 

“Get out,” Tucker commanded, the teal in his eyes mesmerizing to everyone but Wash; who couldn’t see it. “You were never here.”

Rex followed suit, wandering out of the room as Tucker instructed and out of view as he stepped towards the exit of the warehouse. 

Tucker turned back to Wash, frowning. “Happy?” He questioned. 

Wash nodded, watching as the man left; a certain curiosity in his eyes. “Yes.” He concluded, turning back to Tucker. “Don’t do that again, please.”

Tucker nodded begrudgingly. “Fine.” He muttered softly. 

Wash forced a small smile. “Good. Can we talk now?”

* * *

Grif shifted on the back of the couch, exhaling a bout of smoke as he lowered the cigarette to his side and tapped black ash out onto the ashtray on the coffee table.

He was tired. 

So fucking tired. 

He didn’t sleep the night Simmons died and when he napped earlier, he got the worst fucking nightmare. So, yea. Not doing that again. 

It was also exceptionally dark in his house. Which only made it harder to force himself awake so that he wouldn’t have to endure the nightmares.

Having the lights on would help, but then he’d be able to see Simmons more clearly. 

And he was struggling to push him away. 

Ignoring his presence was just easier.

Grif brought the cigarette back to his lips, frowning when all that remained was the roach. He groaned, sitting up and flicking the rest of the bud onto the floor as he extended his foot and snuffed it out into the carpet with the end of his shoe.

He could see Simmons rolling his eyes from the corner of the room, but he didn’t care.

“If it bothers you so much, just leave.” Grif snipped harshly, leaning back against the backboard of the couch. 

Simmons raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Or just say nothing,” Grif groaned, looking away from him. “Why won’t you talk to me?” He questioned, crossing his arms over his face and covering his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you tell me you were dead?”

Grif perked up, wanting to see Simmons’s expression as he uncovered his eyes. 

Simmons sighed and averted his gaze, shrugging slightly. 

“You know I’m not mad at you, right?” Grif questioned softly. “I just- I just wished things were different.”

Simmons turned to him and forced a sad smile on his face as if he agreed with Grif. 

“Don’t worry,” Grif eased. “I’ll fix this.” 

Simmons shot up from the chair in the corner, shaking his head at Grif.

“What now? Grif demanded. 

Simmons opened his mouth, ready to speak before he shut it. 

“Just talk, Simmons.”

Simmons stared at him and mouthed some words he couldn’t make out. 

“I don’t-” 

And that was when the room to his apartment shot open and someone stepped in, flicking on the apartment lights. 

Grif groaned as the overhead light above him turned on abruptly; light blaring in his eyes and temporarily blinding him. “Ah, what the fuck?” He questioned, curling against the couch and bringing an arm up over his face to shield the light. 

“Jesus Christ, Grif. Have you been up off that couch at all?” Someone asked him, stepping into the main room and slamming the door behind them. 

Grif slowly lowered his arm from over his eyes; readjusting to the light as he stared at his sister who was in front of him with her hands on her hips and an unimpressed look on her face. 

“Kai?” He questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m making sure you aren’t dead.” Kai flatlined, looking around the apartment and then down at the ashy coffee table. “Heard what happened with Simmons.” She then said, turning to look at him with a somber expression. 

“How do you know that?” Grif asked suspiciously. 

“What do you mean, how do I know?” Kai mocked. “Donut called me. Besides, it’s all over the news. Simmons is a hero or something.” 

“Since when do you watch the news?”

“Since you started getting into trouble,” Kai remarked, pointing a finger at him. 

Grif groaned, sitting up slightly as he looked away from her. 

“This place is a dump.” Kaikaina then pointed out as she leaned down to pick up the ashtray on the coffee table and walked away with it towards the kitchen. 

Grif could faintly hear the sound of the kitchen trashcan opening as contents were spilled inside and footsteps got louder towards him. 

“Here,” She muttered, tossing him a water bottle. “Drink something.” 

Grif caught the bottle in his hands, inspecting it with a natural disdain as he tossed it at the bottom of the couch. Watching his sister take a rag and wipe off the ash on the coffee table, Grif raised a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking care of you, duh,” Kai stated obviously. “Get used to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grif prompted. 

“It means I don’t want you to starve to death or suffocate yourself in your apartment surrounded by smoke. And until you can take care of yourself, I’ll be chilling here.” She concluded, turning to him with a smile. “Also my place partially burned down by no fault of my own so this totally works out.” 

Grif groaned, laying back down on the couch as Kai returned to the kitchen. He gave Simmons a dull look in the corner as Simmons started back. 

“Don’t do it,” Simmons told him softly; a devastated look on his face.

* * *

“Well, what do you want to know?” Tucker asked Wash, sitting down on his bedroom’s bed. 

It was the first time Wash had officially been in his room, to his knowledge, and the bastard wouldn’t even sit down with him and have a conversation with him like a normal fucking human being. Instead, he was leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest like Tucker was in trouble or something. 

Which was definitely not how you started a deep conversation and it made Tucker think Wash might have still been a little mad at him. 

Actually, looking at him now he probably was. 

“What’s everybody’s power?” Washington asked him sternly.

Alright, getting straight to the good stuff. 

Tucker sighed, leaning back against the bed. “Church can manipulate fire,” He started, looking towards Wash. “You know that. Caboose is like super fucking strong. Donut is fast as shit. And Grif can see dead people.” 

“What about Simmons?” 

“Simmons could look forward in time. He didn’t do it very often, but he could.” 

Washington raised a brow. “Is that it?” 

Tucker nodded. “Yea, besides like- Texas. She could shapeshift into animals, but it doesn’t really matter because she’s dead now.” 

Wash nodded. “Is that as far as these abilities stem?”

Now it was Tucker’s turn to raise a brow. “What do you mean?” He asked.

Wash sighed, uncrossing his arms as he stepped towards the bed. “I mean, Grif can see dead people. But can he also control them? Can he make them tangible? Could Texas shapeshift into humans as well? ” 

Tucker shrugged. “The Director believed so. With practice. And we’ve all kind of proved that multiple times.” He then pointed out. “Donut recently figured out how to grab people and make them be able to speed along with him.” 

“And you?” 

“What about me?”

“What is the extent of your abilities?” Washington questioned, arms crossed over his chest again. 

Tucker grinned, sitting up on the bed and sprawling his arms further down the mattress; resting on them comfortably. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked flirtatiously.

Washington rolled his eyes. “Be serious, please.”

Tucker huffed, sitting back. “Fine. My ability depends on how strong one’s mind is. The more I practice my abilities, the less that matters. I’ve gone from making people convinced they’re seeing things, to convincing them they’re hearing them. I’ve put my own thoughts in people’s heads and I’ve been able to force decisions on them.” 

“That wasn’t your born ability?” 

“Everyone thought my born ability was making people be able to see things that weren’t there,” Tucker explained. “It only just progressed from there.”

“Can you read their thoughts?”

Tucker shook his head. “No. But I can see my own thoughts in their mind.”

Washington nodded, raising his hands from his chest to rub at his face frustratedly as he sat down at the bottom of the bed. “Ok, what about the handicaps?”

“What about them?” 

“What are they, exactly?”

“They’re a physical or mental er-” Tucker paused, thinking over the word he wanted to use. “Block or disability that comes as a result of using our powers. Some of them last all day, like Donut’s or Caboose’s. Most of them only occur at night.” 

“Why?” Wash asked him, looking over at him with curious eyes.

“I don’t know.” Tucker answered. 

“Well, how did you give Church yours?” Washington asked. 

“I don’t know,” Tucker groaned. “I don’t actually know where the powers come from or the handicaps. If the handicap is a mind thing, then it’s completely possible that when putting my thoughts in Church’s mind, I put my handicap there too.” Tucker theorized. “I don’t really know.”

Washington nodded, his face softening at Tucker’s frustrations. “And you guys can use your magic on each other?” 

Tucker nodded. “How do you think Donut got that scar on his face?”

Wash bit his lip, looking away from Tucker. “Then why don’t they work on me?” He asked softly. 

Tucker’s face softened as he moved to sit closer to Wash on the bed. “I don’t know,” He told him quietly. Which he knew really wasn’t helpful, but he didn’t actually know. “We thought you might have been one of us but that doesn’t make sense as you don’t have a handicap. It all depends on where the magic comes from. If it's some chemical thing in our brain, you may have the antidote in yours.” 

Washington raised a brow, his sorrow lifting slightly as he turned to Tucker. “That is a really dumb theory.”

Tucker frowned, his brows furrowing. “You're a really dumb theory.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Your face doesn’t make sense.” 

Washington huffed, looking down at him. “Tucker.” 

Tucker scooted closer, mimicking his same look. “Wash.” 

It was quiet for a moment, something unspoken in the air until Wash eventually broke the silence, staring into Tucker’s eyes. 

How was it even possible that he was here? Just because Wash could deflect their powers, didn’t mean that he still couldn’t be killed by them. There had to have been a reason. More of a reason than for answers or just because. So why? Tucker didn’t have to put his number into his phone. He didn’t have to take him to the Director’s house, and he certainly didn’t have to uncuff him.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” Washington then asked, noticing Tucker get closer, but not caring enough to stop him or question it.

Tucker shrugged, his gaze lowering down to Wash’s lips before coming up to meet his eyes. “Why did you come back?” He retorted. 

Wash stared at his dark brown eyes. He could say answers. He could say curiosity or sympathy or revenge. He could say literally anything, but it’d be a lie. Because truthfully, he didn’t have to come back. “I don’t know.” He confessed quietly, noticing the lack of space now between them.

Tucker smiled slightly, dropping it as he pursed his lips and leaned forward, closing the space in between them as their lips connected. 

Washington was hesitant to reciprocate at first before he kissed back, noticing Tucker snake a hand towards his own on the white bedsheets. Their fingers intertwined for a split moment as Tucker pulled his lips off of Wash’s. 

And just when Wash thought it was over, Tucker redirected his mouth onto Wash’s neck; kissing softly before lightly nipping the skin. 

“Tucker…”

“It’s fine.”

Washington leaned his neck to the side, allowing Tucker to continue for a minute until he turned back to him, bringing his hand up to the other man’s jawline. Brushing his thumb across it, he turned Tucker’s head to face his own and pressed their lips together more harshly and desperately this time. 

Wash could feel Tucker’s tongue press into his own mouth as he began scooting back towards the back of the bed. Washington obliged then, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress and following after.

Trailing his hands down Tucker’s sides and just landing at his hip, Washington suppressed a moan that arose from Tucker snaking a hand down the front of his pants, being quick to use his other hand to grab at Wash’s shirt, pulling him closer even as their lips connected and suddenly-

Suddenly Wash couldn’t seem to remember what he originally came into the room for.

* * *

Caboose smiled, petting down Freckles’ back as he sat criss-cross applesauce at the bottom of the couch in Donut’s living room. 

There was a movie playing in front of him, although he couldn’t really remember what it was called. Only that it followed a peculiar-looking fish and his quest for his dad. 

Freckles sat in front of him calmly and Donut laid fast asleep on the couch behind him. The lights around him were dimmed and Caboose knew better than to move to turn them on. Donut had told him several times that he was not to get into trouble while he was gone or when he was asleep. 

Donut had even made a very lengthy list of all the things Caboose was allowed to do when he wasn’t watching him. The list may have been lengthy, but Donut did a good job at making sure there were pictures to explain every activity so as to not confuse Caboose. 

Caboose continued watching the movie as he rubbed Freckles’s back. He did not want to go home tomorrow. 

Caboose huffed, looking at the dog. He really liked Church. Church was his best friend and he did want to go and visit him, but he also wanted to visit Freckles at the same exact time. 

Caboose could have Church come over to Donut’s but Church did not like Donut very much because he thought he wasn’t very useful and Donut did not like Church very much because Church accidentally hurt him that one time. 

The only other very obvious option would be to take Freckles back to the warehouse. 

There wasn’t a backyard for him to play in or any treats for him to eat, but there were tons and tons of space and bread in the cupboards. Also, bacon and Caboose was sure that he could cook that for the dog pretty easily. 

Caboose smiled and leaned down to kiss Freckles’ back before he turned around to look at Donut. He was fast asleep on the couch, laying down with his hands under his face 

Donut was usually asleep when Caboose came over, it wasn't a rare occurrence. Donut seemed to be tired all the time. 

Church had tried to explain it to Caboose once, mentioning something about handicapped people, but Caboose didn’t drive a car so he didn't have to worry about them. 

Caboose stretched his arm over his side and turned to fully face the couch. He shook Donut’s shoulder lightly as the smile on his face didn’t cease. “Brownie?” He called lightly. 

Caboose frowned when Donut didn’t shift as he began pushing him a little harder in response.

Caboose knew he had to be careful when he touched people. And things. And pretty much everything. He was really strong and if he didn’t be super careful he’d accidentally hurt someone or something.

“Biscuit?” Caboose called again, more loudly this time. 

Donut’s eyes fluttered open then as he took a deep breath and sat up on the couch. “Hmm?” He muttered to Caboose, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. 

Caboose smiled brightly, proud that he was able to shake Donut awake without hurting him. He then lifted his elbows up and planted them on the couch cushions, leaning his head on his palms. “I just had a very great idea.” He told Donut excitedly.

Donut cleared his throat, now able to look at Caboose more clearly as the weariness from his sleep wore off. “And what was that?” He questioned curiously. 

“We should bring Freckles over to Church's house for a sleepover.'' He stated excitedly. “Only for a night though,” Caboose added quickly. “Because I know you do not want to be alone for a long time.”

Donut smiled, nodding a little. “I think that’s a great idea, Caboose.”

Caboose grinned, turning to Freckles as he pulled him closer to his chest. The dog obliged easily, used to Caboose’s roughhousing by now. “Freckles you are going to love my other house,” He told the dog happily.

“Thank you Mcmuffin.” Caboose then told Donut, looking up at him. 

Donut returned his smile. “Anytime, Caboose.”

* * *

Tucker sighed contently, leaning on Wash’s bare, sleeping chest as he calmly moved to wrap his arms around his side near the corner of the bed’s blanket. 

It was morning by now. The time was probably stretching around 7am and the sun would’ve shone brightly through the windows if it wasn’t for his blackout curtains covering them. 

It was quiet in the warehouse; nothing but the outside sounds of people and cars and Wash’s slow steady breath as he slept peacefully. 

Maybe Tucker was wrong about the things he thought about Wash. About how he only thought Tucker had liked Wash because he was a person he could talk to and how Wash probably only liked Tucker because Tucker was the only one that could uncuff him. 

Looking at him now, Tucker hoped he was wrong. Because although Wash left, he did come back. And that had to mean something on his end. 

He came back and tried to do right by Tucker and Tucker kind of understood how Wash had seen a potential for good in him that was never truly enacted because of the way he grew up. Tucker appreciated how he was trying to help him and get him out of tough situations without using violence. 

It was a shame that his attempts would amount to nothing. 

Tucker slowly rubbed at Wash’s side, watching his chest fall and rise with each breath. He smiled lightly to himself as he then delicately rolled over onto his back and carefully grabbed the end of the blanket draped over them at his side and tossed it off of him. 

He slowly lowered the edge of the blanket back onto the bed as he then turned to the side and let his feet drop to the carpeted floor. 

Tucker stepped up from the bed, leaning down and picking up the boxers that he had previously discarded on the floor from the night before. He then quietly shuffled through his dresser and without a word, grabbed a clean set of clothes and tugged them on, looking towards Wash’s sleeping figure as he continued. 

He was almost adorable when he wasn’t yelling at Tucker and telling him what to do. 

Tucker sighed quietly, the leather of his jacket making the smallest amount of noise when he leaned down and picked up Wash’s clothes off the bed and tossed them onto the room chair. He stepped towards the chair, glancing cautiously at Wash as he then dug into the back pocket of Wash’s jeans and pulled out his cell phone. 

Not the one Tucker gave him, of course. Wash’s actual phone was much nicer and held no personality to the phone case. Or the lock screen for that matter, Tucker noted as he pressed the middle button on the white iPhone. 

Tucker pressed the middle button again, huffing in frustration when the password pad popped up. 

Of course, he had a password. This was Detective David fucking Washington. Melodramatic hardass of the century. 

Tucker typed in the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and scoffed expectantly when the code didn't work. 

Glancing up at Wash, Tucker quietly sauntered over to the opposite side of the bed and lowered the phone by Washington. He lightly picked up Wash’s hand and pressed his thumb on the middle button of the phone, trying to unlock it with his fingerprint. 

Tucker raised a brow when it didn’t work, trying again with Wash’s pointer finger. 

He almost laughed when it worked. 

Only an old person would use their pointer finger for their fingerprint.

Tucker laughed quietly to himself as he moved away from the bed and over to the chair in his room as he began swiping through the apps on Wash’s phone. He stopped right over messenger, glancing up towards the bed before redirecting his attention onto the phone and tapping the first contact labeled, Carolina. 

Tucker swiped through the messages, reading a few, and examining how Wash texted. He used full punctuation and spelled every word with diligent correctness. Because, of course, he would. Tucker rolled his eyes as he pressed the text message bar and began typing. 

_ Good morning… _

He deleted the message. It sounded weird. Wash didn’t know how to socialize. And there was no way he’d talk to his boss like that. 

_ Hey. Just… _

Wait. Was there supposed to be a comma after Hey or a period? Tucker shook his head, going with the comma as he continued typing. 

_ Hey, just wanted to update you about the Georgia case. I’ve got a lead about a guy and place downtown and I think it’s worth checking out. I’ll send you the rest of the information in just a minute. _

Tucker typed out the address of Rex’s operation and what his appearance looked like and quickly hit send, swiping out of the app. He looked over to Wash and, after making sure he was still asleep, turned to slide his phone back into Wash’s pant pocket. 

Tucker yawned, rubbing his eyes as he grabbed his own phone and shot a quick text to Grif as he glanced towards Washington. 

He smiled, turning for the door. 

He appreciated Wash trying to ‘show him the good side’ or some theatre opera bullshit, but it really wasn’t worth the effort. 

Thanks anyway, Wash. 

* * *

‘O’Malley growled to himself, watching the sun shine in through the windows of the slowly-collapsing house. He could feel the bags under his eyes and the hardwood floor under him as the tired need to close his eyes grew. 

Doc let them close momentarily before ‘O’Malley shot them back open, thrusting his arm in the grip of the metal handcuffs. He screamed madly, yanking, and pulling his wrist against the sharp metal. 

His wrist was bruised and bleeding at this point, but he welcomed the feeling. 

The feeling kept him awake. 

Awake so that he’d be able to slaughter the next person that entered the house. 

He knew people had walked by. He could hear their thoughts dimly as they jogged by, mentally commenting on the weather and whether or not they had time to get groceries before they picked their kids up from school. 

He stayed awake because he knew Doc didn’t like to be in control of a sleep-deprived body. 

He stayed awake in case the bastards that chained him to the bar rail near the stairs by the Director’s room decided to come back. 

He tugged fruitlessly at the handcuffs and kicked his feet against the hardwood floor. Slamming his other fist into the hardwood floor repeatedly, he screamed into the sleeve of his raised arm and didn’t stop pounding the hard floor until his knuckles bled and bruised.

He shot his eyes open, nearby thoughts approaching him. 

Awake. 

I’m awake.

Doc closed their body’s eyes, taking control for a mere second from the mind-numbing exhaustion as someone jogged by outside the house. 

“Cause everything you care is just words,”

Words sang calmly in his head. 

It was quite often that O'Malley read minds only to see that there was a song in the person’s head he was spectating. 

“So what's the point of going somewhere and everyone you see, is just nothing but confused.” 

It was annoying as all hell, but the dreaded singing was what really irritated O’Malley and helped him to snap within their body’s mind and take control once again. 

O’Malley shot his eyes open, quickly scrambling up to stand as much as he could as he pressed his foot against the front of the stairs and pulled on the handcuffs. He yanked as hard as he could, his wrist’s skin cutting around the edges as he let out a pained cry. 

“OUT, OUT, OUT!”

He was trapped again. Just like at the insane asylum. 

No one imprisoned him.

Not anymore. 

O’Malley stopped his violent tearing as a small click noise was heard coming from the staircase rail. He glanced through blurry vision at it and smiled when he realized the bar to the rail was loose. 

He grabbed at the rail with his free hand and shook it, grinning madly to himself.

Grinning because he knew he wouldn’t be a prisoner for very much longer. 


	13. le nombre le plus solitaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

_ 2 months ago _

“You’ve got a week." The larger male told him sharply as he perched his arms on the seat of his chair. 

Church shifted his stance, raising a brow as he clutched his fingers in a fist at his side. “A week?" He snarled. 

It'd be so easy to just let anger consume him and burn the entire fucking place down in a fit of frustration. 

But he couldn't. They vowed not to use magic. And they had been doing a good job at keeping that promise. 

Kai and Junior were living out normal lives, everyone's handicaps got better, well except Simmons. 

Something was going on with him and his ability but that was between him and Grif. 

The man nodded, furrowing his brow at Church. “I'm tired of this back and forth bullshit." He gathered, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. 

Loan shark? 

This guy was more than that. 

He controlled the system. 

Crime, drugs, illegal immigration. You name it. 

It enticed Church in a way. 

He had always been the butt end of someone's grand scheme. 

With the Counselor, Director; even now as he stood before this powerful man; at his will because he had no choice. 

“You be got one week to come up with the money," The man reiterated. “Or I’ll get it myself by personally selling each of your body parts." 

Church raised a brow as he nodded, something tight and angry curling in his chest. 

But still, that same enticement stayed. 

The feeling there wasn't anger. In fact, if Church didn't know better he'd say it was jealousy. 

God, he hated being the pawn. 

He wanted what this guy had. 

He wanted the control. 

Specifically, he wanted his control. 

_ Present Day _

Tucker paused his walking outside the large apartment building. He looked up at the towering structure and listened for a moment at the people talking around him from their windows or balconies and the cars speeding by behind him. 

Grif and Simmons didn’t live in the best part of town. But the cruddy building, wandering homeless people, and shitty neighbors weren’t what truly mattered. What really mattered was that it was close to the warehouse. 

They chose the buildings they lived in across a divided line. You could walk from Grif’s to the warehouse to the Donut hole, to Kai’s bar, and so on. It was a line through town and they had large portions of it covered. One could assume they had a damn fine control and vision across the city that way. 

Tucker kept walking around the side of the building, watching his step over the chipped concrete below him and paying no mind to the people sitting near the curb or getting into their cars; ready to drive to work and start the day. 

Tucker rounded the corner of the brick building, stepping over the curb to the parking lot. It didn’t take him long to spot Grif leaning against the back of a brick wall beside a side entrance to the apartment complex with a lit cigarette between his fingers. 

Tucker sauntered over when Grif glanced his way, lowering the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke. “Need a hit?” Grif questioned, extending the cigarette towards him. 

Tucker shook his head. “I’m good, man. You ready?” 

Grif nodded, dropping the roach of the bud and snuffing it out with the bottom of his boot as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Simmons’s car keys. He then pointed the keys out into the parking lot and hit a button, stepping back from the apartment wall when a beeping sound was heard from the parking lot. 

Tucker looked the way the noise came as he began following Grif towards it. 

“I’ll drive,” Grif stated obviously as he stopped at Simmons’s run-down car and opened the driver’s door. He slid in, slamming the door behind him and watching as Tucker rounded the car and got in the passenger seat. 

“You know the way?” Grif questioned when Tucker got it, shriveling his nose a little at the sharp smell of nicotine in the car. 

Tucker nodded. “It’s close to an hour away, but yea. I know the way.” 

Grif nodded. “Good because I sure as hell wasn’t remembering that shit.” 

Tucker scoffed, laughing a little. 

* * *

Carolina moved aside a file on her desk and glanced at the open folders in front of her. She looked over to the file and read the first paragraph and then reread it again. She picked it back up and slid it into one of the folders in front of her labeled ‘weekly reports’ and then moved on to another piece of paper in her very scrambled stack. 

Yes, she was finally getting around to clearing her desk. 

Ever since  Wash came, she had felt this invisible weight lift off her shoulders and she finally felt motivated enough to take some time to clean up her space. 

Stress was something she lived with and the only problem that ever arose from it was, like her technically not related brother Wash, insomnia. Unlike her brother, she also grew agitated and angry when stress consumed her. 

Wash was always good at calming her down, so maybe that was why she was feeling so much better now with him here. 

It must have just been physiological ease to her mind. 

Carolina glanced around the papers on her desk to her phone as it pinged, a notification popping up on her home screen. 

Speaking of Wash…

She read over the text he had sent and smiled as he had found new information. She knew he could do it. 

Carolina looked up from her desk, a knock at her door bringing her out of her thoughts. He returned to her stern, boss-like facial expression as she met York’s eyes as he lingered in her doorway. 

York’s smug grin and obviously flirtatious stance. “Hey, Lina.” 

Carolina rolled her eyes.

York smiled at her facial expression, sauntering further into the room as he shoved his hands into his pant pockets and stopped in front of her desk. “I was think-” 

“You must be in here because you’re here for more work.” Carolina corrected, raising her brow the instant he started talking. 

“Actually-”

“Great,” Carolina beamed, grabbing at a stray pencil and piece of blank paper. She then looked back and forth from Wash’s text and the pad, copying the information onto the piece of paper. “I’ve got a lead on Georgia’s murderer. I want you to take a team and bombard the place.” She instructed, getting up from her desk’s chair. “Here’s the information.” She added, extending the piece of paper in her hand. 

York eyed the paper, a worried smile on his face as he exasperatedly took his hands out from his pant pockets. “Woah, hey now.” He mused, stepping back slightly. “I’m on break.” 

“I’m your boss,” Carolina grinned. “I’ll give you work whenever I want to.” 

York sighed, stepping forward and taking the paper from Carolina. 

It was crazy how she could literally tell him to do anything and he’d still have that stupid smile on his face. 

“Who picked up the lead?” York questioned, sliding the paper into his pocket.

“David.” Carolina mused, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest. 

York scoffed. “He’s got me doing all his work, huh? First the graffiti kids and now this.” He joked. “I think he’s doing it on purpose.” 

Carolina smiled, holding back a laugh that surely went noticed by York. 

“Yeah well, have fun.” She then mused, turning away back towards her desk. 

York nodded, lingering for a second longer until he waved goodbye and left the room, continuing out into the hall and towards the breakroom. 

North was at his side in seconds, jogging up to him with a grin. “Did you ask her out?” He questioned. 

York shook his head. “No.” He grumbled defeatedly. 

North stifled a laugh. “Knew you wouldn’t.” 

“It’s not my fault!” York exasperated. “I missed my opportunity and then she assigned me work.” 

North laughed, unable to stifle it any longer. 

York glared over at him. “I had such a great pick-up line too.” He grumbled, pulling the piece of paper out from his pocket as he looked down at it. 

* * *

Grif glanced at the house in front of him, grimacing a little. He hadn’t seen it in years. Hadn’t even risked driving by it and here he was, about to step right in. He could see Tucker looking over at him with a knowing look as he stared upon the house. 

Grif cleared his throat, shaking off his worries as he looked towards Tucker with a sureness. “Let’s go.” He muttered, using the keys to Simmons’s car to lock the vehicle. 

Tucker nodded stepping towards the house, leading Grif past the black fence, dead grass, front door, and into the living room. 

Grif stopped in the middle of the front room hallway, looking up at the lights and around at the wallpaper with an unsure look on his face as he noticed Simmons looking wearily behind him. 

Grif paused his eyes’ journey across the room, letting them slowly fall onto Simmons as he shook his head softly, a worried look on his face as he mouthed the word ‘no’

Grif glared at him, turning away as he pushed past Tucker and continued on into the house. “You found the files in the Director's room, right?” Grif questioned, looking back at him and ignoring Simmons. 

Tucker nodded. “Yea, but be careful ‘O’Malley’s over there.” He pointed out, quickly following after as Grif began making his way towards the hall that connected to the Director’s room near the staircase.

“Yea, but he’s chained up, he can’t get to us.” Grif deflected easily. 

“We still don’t know what his power is.” Tucker told him cautiously as they approached the staircase. 

Grif nodded, seeing a lump of a man, collapsed at the bottom of the staircase. He chuckled a little, glancing towards Tucker. “Him?” He asked quietly. 

Tucker nodded, stepping around ‘O’Malley before stopping at the door to the Director’s room, his eyes still on ‘O’Malley.

“He’s out cold.” Grif noted, heading inside the Director’s office. 

Tucker watched ‘O’Malley for a second longer. There was blood scattered about the staircase; coating ‘O’Malley’s knuckles and pants, and his eyes were shut closed; his head leaning somewhat forcefully on his shoulder. 

It looked painful, but Tucker couldn’t hold any remorse towards it. The guy probably deserved it. Turning to head into the room along with Grif, he shut the door behind him. 

Grif turned around, looking towards him as he kneeled in a sitting potion over a pile of scattered papers. 

“That’s it,” Tucker told him, stepping over and picking up a piece of paper. “You pick out anything that looks important,” He then instructed, heading for the door. “I’m gonna grab a bag or something from the car. It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to take it all back without help.” 

Grif nodded, flipping over a document in his hands as he heard the door to the Director’s room slam shut. He let his eyes skim the page for a second until he heard shuffling from behind him. 

Grif quickly turned around, dropping the paper as his eyes were met with Simmons, who was standing quietly behind him. “Jesus,” He hissed, turning back to the scattered papers as he began gathering them up into a pile. “You scared me.” He chastised. 

“Leave.” Simmons begged quietly behind him, causing Grif to turn to look at him. 

“Stop being so vague.” He muttered out, trying to make his words sound harsher but not quite hitting the mark. 

Simmons squatted to the ground then, bringing his hands out to grab at Grif’s shirt with a sharp desperation. He only paused when his hands went right through Grif. Simmons sighed, lowering them to his side as he also lowered himself onto his knees. “You have to leave, Grif.” He muttered quietly, looking down at the ground. 

Grif looked away from the paper, placing it behind him. He wanted to devote his full attention to Simmons. It was the least he could do since he started talking more. “Why?” He demanded. 

“O’Malley is dangerous,” Simmons told him, his voice coming out quite hoarse. 

“How do you know?” 

“We spent some time at the ward together before he got slapped into solitary confinement and I’m  _ telling  _ you, he’s not to be messed with.” Simmons stressed, his finger itching to move at his side.

Grif scoffed. “He’s cuffed to the stairs he can’t do anything.” 

“He can read minds.” Simmons told him, quickly and urgently. 

Grif hurriedly glanced between the door and then back towards Simmons slowly. “Are you sure?” He asked him quietly as if ‘O’Malley might’ve been able to hear them. 

Simmons nodded. “Yes, so clear your mind dumbass.” He stressed quietly. “Don’t think about anything.” 

“Why wouldn’t you tell us that before?” Grif questioned, trying extremely hard not to think about anything.

“Because Church would go after him,” Simmons pointed out. “And I didn’t want you or anyone else getting wrapped up in it. He was in the asylum where he would stay and so there was no point to tell anyone.” 

Grif nodded slowly as he grew quiet.

He wanted to keep Simmons talking, maybe even apologize for not being the type of person Simmons could talk to, but he didn’t get the chance because a thought popped in his head. 

“So when Tucker went back to get the bags, leaving me here alone, ‘O’Malley heard that?” He questioned quietly. As if a single sound would set off the bomb of a person in the next room. 

“Not unless you thought about it,” Simmons told him quietly, looking up at Grif’s face of slight mortification. “You didn’t think about it, right?”

Grif said nothing, causing Simmons to groan. “Griiiiif.”

“It’s fine,” Grif eased quickly, getting up from his spot on the floor. “He’s locked up, there’s no way he can get out.” He commented, looking back at Simmons as he walked over to the door and opened it. Grif turned around then, looking out into the hall and freezing still. 

“Son of a bitch!” Grif screech, staring at the ground where ‘O’Malley had been laying. Only now he was gone, a broken railing and a bloody trail where he was. 

Simmons got up from the floor, quickly following after as he stared at the empty spot in mortification. “Oh, no.” He stressed quietly, grabbing at the back ends of his hair. 

Grif looked back at him with a stern look. “Were fine.” He eased. 

“What about Tucker?!” Simmons exasperated, panic in his voice as he crumbled to the ground, staring dead at the spot where ‘O’Malley was. 

Realization hit and Grif hurriedly turned back with a determination, being quick to find his way back to the front door of the house, past the rows of doors and crude carpet. He grabbed the rusty handle then, grabbing it as he swung the door wide open. 

He stepped out a few feet onto the porch; leaves crunching under his shoes as his eyes darted quickly to Simmons’s car. 

Tucker was standing there then, something held in his hands as a very noticeable ‘O’Malley pinned him against the side of the car with his arm over his neck, pressing further and further against Tucker’s throat. 

Tucker writhed against ‘O’Malley’s grip, struggling to breathe as he leaned his head down and clamped his jaw down on ‘O’Malley’s arm. His teeth dug into the other man’s skin and he didn’t dare release his shark-like grip until ‘O’Malley screeched and backed away. 

Tucker took a deep breath then, gasping for air as the light returned to his eyes and blood-soaked his mouth. He took no time then to hesitate before he lunged forward and used ‘O’Malley’s kneeled position as an opportunity to open the plastic bag in his hands and open it up, lifting it over ‘O’Malley’s head. 

Tucker tightened the bag over ‘O’Malley’s head as he spotted Grif rushing over in the distance. ‘O’Malley turned around in his grip, attempting to get free as he grabbed at Tucker’s hands relentlessly; the bag over his head trapping air from entering his lungs. 

Tucker grinned, further tightening the bag as he leaned closer to ‘O’Malley. “Didn’t think you’d let me kick your ass twice.” He spat. 

‘O’Malley gasped hard then, his airflow cutting short as he reached his arms back over his own shoulders in desperation; the handcuffs still attached to one of his wrists flying back from the force as he used Tucker’s height as an advantage to grab his shoulders. ‘O’Malley tightened his grip, bending down as he pulled Tucker over him, slamming him down to the concrete below. 

Tucker groaned, the back of his head hitting the hot pavement as he blearily opened his eyes and saw the sun double in his vision. Everything got blurry and white and hurt so fucking bad. Hurt more than anything he had ever felt in his entire life. 

Tucker let his head roll to the side as he saw something orange and purple flash over him and out of his peripheral vision. His head fell to the opposite side and he could briefly see red liquid running down the concrete below as specks of dirt blew by. 

His eyes threatened to close and the pounding in his head didn’t cease as the noises around him only grew blurrier. 

Tucker shakingly attempted to sit up, leaning on his hands and feeling rocky pebbles underneath his palms. Every movement threatened a collapse and made him dizzy. His head stayed turned down towards the concrete as he gritted his teeth from the pain and saw something reddish drip from his head. He gagged then, feeling something churn in his stomach. 

Oh fuck. 

Words and sounds slowly started becoming hearable as he quickly jerked a hand to his stomach, leaning forward as bile erupted from the back of his throat and spiled to the concrete below. 

Shaking, he leaned away from the mess and rolled his head back, spotting Grif near the edge of the car with O'Malley next to him. 

‘O’Malley smiled, bringing his fist up towards Grif’s face to punch him hard. 

Grif hissed, blood pooling freely down his lip as he pushed ‘O’Malley back. Pulling out the car keys in his pocket. Grif lifted them up and ejected the sharp end of the steel quickly, and effectively into ‘O’Malley’s chest. 

‘O’Malley let out a pained cry, stepping forward with a more hurried force as Grif flipped them around on the car and grabbed ‘O’Malley’s shoulders, ramming the man back and forth into the car door. 

The pain on ‘O’Malley’s side didn’t last very long however as something in ‘O’Malley’s head flipped and suddenly a more innocent person was looking at Grif with a fearful expression. 

Doc. 

There was no mistaking it. The look of pure anger and cruelty had dissipated and all that was left was a confused soul who didn’t belong there. 

Grif backed away then, grabbing Doc sternly by the shirt and tossing him onto the concrete ground a few feet away from him. “Get out of here, Doc!” He pleaded angrily. 

Doc lifted himself up off the ground, staggering a little as blood dripped from his knuckles and onto the pavement. He looked at Grif bleary-eyed, before turning and running. 

It was hurried and desperate and Grif couldn’t do much more than watch and make sure ‘O’Malley didn’t take control at the last second and come charging back. 

Deciding ‘O’Malley would most likely be knocked out for a while and away from them, Grif quickly turned back towards Tucker, rushing towards him with a worried ferocity. 

“Tucker?” He called, leaning down and putting his hand on Tucker’s back as the other man struggled to sit up. 

Tucker smiled then, eyes flying around his surroundings before landing on Grif “Heyy.” He managed, his voice drowsy. 

Grif looked at the wound on his head and quickly lifted him up, wrapping Tucker’s arm around his neck as he brought his own arm around Tucker’s waist; trying to support him. 

“Hey, Grif?” Tucker slurred, lagging behind a little as Grif tried to bring him to the car. 

“What?” 

“My head hurts,” Tucker told him tiredly, leaning against Grif. 

Grif nodded. “No shit.” He grumbled, opening the passenger car door as he hoisted Tucker into the car and onto the seat cushion. He carefully leaned Tucker’s head back onto the seat’s headrest and grabbed at the seat buckle near him. 

“Hey, Grif?” Tucker questioned as Grif grabbed the buckled and strapped it across Tucker’s chest, plugging it into the other side of the seat with a little click.

“What?” Grif asked once again.

“My head hurts.” Tucker told him tiredly, closing his eyes.

Grif stepped away from the car, looking at Tucker with a worried expression. “I know.” He told him quietly, trying to decide what to do. “Stay here,” He instructed Tucker. 

Tucker whined, reaching a hand out towards him. “Where ya going?”

Grif grabbed at the passenger door, looking towards Tucker as he slumped his hand back on his lap. “I’m getting the paperwork. You stay here, I’ll be right back.” Grif told him, glancing cautiously behind him. “And then we gotta get you home…”

* * *

Washington stepped into the police department, only getting a few feet into the building when he spotted Carolina in front of a man in handcuffs near the front office. She seemed to be yelling at him then and pushed him aside towards a security officer, and together, both the officer and the man left the room. 

But this just wasn’t any man, Washington noted. 

It was Rex. 

It was the guy Tucker had attempted to kidnap and frame the day before. 

Washington raised a brow, stepping past people as he approached Carolina. By the time he got to her, Rex and the security guard were gone and Carolina’s expression had softened as she turned around, semi-surprise to see him right behind her. 

“Hey,” She greeted with a smile. “Thanks for the tip. Turns out the coordinates you gave us were part of a huge organization. We got one of the guys in charge, but he’s not rating out anyone else.” 

Washington raised a brow. “What?” He questioned. 

He semi believed what she was talking about, but wanted to make sure. Because there was no way what she was saying could have been accurate. 

“This guy named Rex,” She further explained. “He runs a drug ring downtown in an old warehouse. You sent the tip this morning.”

Washington nodded slowly. 

He did not send in a tip like that and it sure as hell wasn’t this morning. 

Well, fuck. 

It was obvious to him now what happened. There was only one person that could have possibly had access to his phone this morning and sent that tip. 

Tucker. 

“We even found the knife used to kill Georgia,” Carolina continued, smiling. “Grey is further inspecting and matching the cut and fingerprints right now and then we’ll have him backed into a corner.”

“That’s good,” Washington told her quietly, still silently raging for letting his guard drop. 

He told Tucker he wasn’t going to help him with this, so he must’ve taken it into his own hands. 

“I’m hoping we can get him to rat out the smaller or larger organizations,” Carolina further informed, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest. “But he doesn’t look like he’s talking. Hopefully, a few weeks in prison will change that.” 

Washington nodded. There was no harm in putting Rex in prison, but the very fact that Tucker went behind his back and framed him anyway even when Wash told him not to, made him livid. 

Tucker told him he wouldn’t. He told him. And Wash was foolish enough to believe him. 

And there was nothing Wash could do either. 

Because Carolina believed he sent in the tip since it came from his phone. Wash couldn’t call it out and say he didn’t because she would want to know who did and who had access to such private information. 

He couldn’t turn Tucker in because Tucker would get out of it as easily as he got into it and Wash would be stuck playing into his hand. Also if that happened and Tucker didn’t manage to get out of it, it would make no sense since Rex had the knife and according to Carolina, believed Rex’s fingerprints were on it too. 

There was no way in hell Tucker was dumb enough to not wipe his fingertips off the blade. 

Especially if he was smart enough to give it to Rex in the first place because he had been listening when Wash told him framework like that needed evidence. 

He was stuck. 

There was nothing he could do that would give him a win in the end result. 

Carolina raised a brow at him. “David?” She questioned, snapping him back into reality. 

“Huh?” 

“You alright?”

“Yea, I’m fine.” Wash eased. “Just thinking over the case.”

Carolina nodded. “Right, I think we got it pretty wrapped up. If Rex turns out to be responsible for Georgia’s death, there’s an extremely high possibility that he’s also responsible for the deaths of several other drug ring related murders.” 

Washington nodded. “Think he’ll say anything?”

“I don't think so,” Carolina noted, shaking her head a little. “I don’t even think he’s pulling all the strings. But it is worth a try.”

Washington nodded, quieting down as she regained her smile towards him. 

“By the way, we’re having the memorial in a day or so, I’ll text you the address.” 

Washington nodded. “Thanks,” He told her genuinely. “Should I bring anything?”

“No that’s fine,” Carolina told him. “Do you want to come to the interrogation room and watch South and North play good cop and bad cop on Rex?” She questioned, a smile on her face. 

“As amusing as that sounds,” Wash grinned. “I’ve got some work to do. See you later?”

Carolina nodded. “Sure.” She agreed, turning and heading down towards the interrogation room. 

Washington watched her go, standing in the middle of the police department for a second before turning to head to his office. 

He wanted to help Tucker, but it was pretty obvious that Tucker didn’t want help.

So then he wasn’t going to receive it. 

Washington stepped into his office, pulling the trap phone Tucker had given him out of his pocket as he tossed it in the garbage under his desk. 

* * *

“Hey, this isn’t my house.” Tucker mumbled out, looking around the walls as Grif hoisted his arms back up over his shoulder; stopping him from slipping to the ground. 

“It’s mine,” Grif told him, cursing as he reached towards the handle of Simmons’s apartment door. He tightened his grip on Tucker, trying to keep him steady as he opened the door and stepped inside, dragging Tucker along with him. 

It took them an hour. A bloody hour for Grif to drive the whole way from that godforsaken house to the apartment building and then up the stairs to Simmons’s apartment and he was fucking exhausted. 

He slammed the door shut with the back of his foot then, looking towards the couch and frowning as Kai was visibly passed out on it, most likely sleeping off her latest hangover. 

“Kai, wake the fuck up!” He hissed, pulling Tucker over by the couch and sitting him down on it, right at the bottom of Kai’s feet. 

Kai grumbled, sitting up on the couch and opening her eyes wide as she watched Tucker lean his head back on the arch of the couch and close his eyes; Grif out of breath next to him. 

“Jesus, what happened to him?” She asked, rubbing at her eyes and getting up off the couch, rounding it in Tucker’s direction. 

“He hit his head pretty hard,” Grif told her, catching his breath and wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “I’m pretty sure he has a concussion.” 

Kai glanced over at him, smiling as she passed him; heading towards the kitchen. “Walk much?” She questioned, undoubtedly making fun of him for being so tired. 

“Shut up,” Grif retorted, heading towards the other side of the couch and sitting down. “I was the one that had to carry his fatass up here from the car.” 

Kai chuckled, coming back into the living room with a wet washcloth. She sat on the armrest of the couch, looking towards Tucker as she placed the wet washcloth against his forehead. 

Tucker winced, fluttering his eyes open as he looked up at her. “Hey, gorgeous.” He muttered out, his words slurring with each syllable. 

“Hey, handsome.” She responded, playing his game as she snaked her hand behind his neck and supported the back of his head. 

“Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” Tucker informed her. 

Grif rolled his eyes from the opposite end of the couch. “Wash is not your boyfriend.” He grumbled. 

“Not what he said last night.” Tucker hooted, raising an arm in triumph. 

“What?” Grif demanded to know, watching Kai lower Tucker’s arm and hold it firmly at his side. 

“What?” Tucker asked back, confusion visible on his face as he turned to look at him. 

“Huh?”

“Grif,” Kai snapped at him, still supporting the back of Tucker’s head with her hand. “Make yourself useful and go get the medkit in the bathroom and a bin. If he has a concussion, we’ll probably need a puke bucket.”

Grif narrowed his eyes, sighing as he begrudgingly got up from the couch and headed in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Did you hit the front or back of your head?” Kai asked Tucker, turning towards him now that Grif had left the room. 

“I didn’t hit my head.” Tucker told her, looking up at the ceiling as he tilted his head back. 

“Uh, yea you did, dumbass.” 

“Oh, then I guess I did.” Tucker responded quietly after a minute. 

Kai rolled her eyes. “Then which side, front or back?”

“Can you turn off the light?” Tucker asked politely, seeming as if he didn’t fully render her question. “It’s too bright in this hospital.” 

“You’re not-'' Sister began interjecting before sighed and flipped over the washcloth. “You know what? Nevermind.” She degraded, noticing Grif come back into the room with the stuff she asked for. 

“Turn off the back light.” Kai then instructed Grif, looking towards him as he placed the items next to Tucker on the couch. “Not the front one, I need that to do his bandages. Just the back one.” 

Grif complied as Tucker rolled his head over to look at the items on the couch, extending a hand out to touch the red medkit. 

Kai slapped his hand away, grabbing the kit herself as she used her other hand to tilt Tucker’s head forward and place the washcloth behind his neck in order to support his head while she worked. 

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Grif asked her, sitting back down as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You don’t think I’ve ever had to deal with head trauma before when I literally run a bar?” Kai remarked, tilting Tucker’s head back as she opened the medkit and shuffled through the provided items. 

Grif nodded, silently agreeing with her. “Fair enough.” He decided. 

Tucker lazily looked over to Grif as Kai began bandaging his head. “Hey, Grif?” He called out. 

Grif raised a brow in his direction. “What?”

“My head hurts.” 

“I know,” Grif snipped back; agitated. “Stop telling me that.” 

“Ok,” Tucker told him, looking back up at the ceiling before pausing and glancing back over to Grif. “Hey, Grif?” He called out casually. 

“Your head hurts,” Grif answered for him. “Now shut up.”

* * *

Church rubbed at his temples irritably. His head hurt as all hell. Whether it was from the copious amount of alcohol consumed earlier, that still hadn’t worn completely off, or his handicap, he wouldn’t truly know. 

He’d take more Excedrin, but it was too early for that. If he took anymore, he’d just get sicker and that was in no way any help. 

The most he could do would be to continue laying in his bed, letting the dark atmosphere cure his headache naturally until he eventually passed out. 

Which was pretty much what he had been doing all day anyway. 

He felt shitty and useless for being so inactive, but he knew he’d feel worse if he went out. Besides, without Caboose or Tucker home, there really was no reason for going out anyway. 

He was alone. 

Normally when Caboose was gone, Church would hang out with Tucker. As annoying as he was, he was good company. But Tucker had found someone else to latch onto, leaving Church bitterly behind as he strived for a relationship that would never work out. 

Maybe that was selfish of him. Hoping to have both Tucker and Caboose all to himself, without having to share them with Wash, Freckles, or Donut. Which was even odder because he rarely showed affection towards either of them. But it was at lonely times like this when did admit, he needed them.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from groaning as he heard shouting coming from downstairs, most likely indicating Donut had brought Caboose back from his house. 

It was the sound of a dog barking and footsteps speeding up the stairs, that truly caught Church’s unfocused attention. 

Within the minute that Church began to sit up in his bed, the door to his bedroom swung open; light flooding into the room as Caboose barged in. 

He wasn’t alone however as within seconds, Freckles sped in as well, ducking under the gap in-between Caboose’s legs and charging towards Church as the animal jumped up onto the bed and began making itself at home amongst Church’s bedsheets. 

“CHURCH, YOU’LL NEVER GUESS WHAT SUPER SMART IDEA BOTH ME AND BUTTERSCOTCH CAME UP WITH!” Caboose shouted happily, his excitement getting the better of him. 

Church groaned, shielding his eyes from the light as the outside lamp and newfound noise made his headache worsen. “Caboose!” He hissed angrily. “Shut the fuck up.” He groaned, the throbbing in his head reaching down to his ears. 

Caboose smiled, used to the degrading comments as he stepped further into the room, Donut following in after him. 

“What the hell are you all doing in here?” Church questioned, a threatening tone to his voice. 

Donut scrunched up his nose, the smell of alcohol apparent to him in the small room as he looked towards Church. “Caboose wanted to-”

“DONUT BROUGHT ME BACK WITH FRECKLES FOR A SLEEPOVER!” Caboose cheered excitedly, stepping towards Church’s bed as Donut lingered in the hallway. 

Church squinted his eyes, the light from the hallway still blinding as he looked over at Caboose. “What? You can’t-” He paused, feeling Freckles hop up on his bed, approaching him as the dog attempted to climb up on his chest and lick his face. “FRECKLES, DOWN!” Church demanded, lightly pushing the dog away from him. 

Freckles kept his happy stance, bouncing right back towards him as Church looked over to Caboose. “You can’t have Freckles here,” Church told him sternly, scooting towards the end of the bed and planting his feet on the carpet below. 

Caboose frowned. “Why not? I’ll take care of him and pet him and-” 

“Because I don’t want that thing barking and shedding everywhere.” Church explained, pressing a cool hand up against his forehead as he looked over at Freckles, grabbing his collar with the other hand. 

“It’s Caboose’s home too.” Donut defended from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“No, it’s not. I own the place.” Church countered, grabbing Freckles’ collar and dragging him off the mattress as he stood up off the bed. 

The dog didn’t seem hurt or in any pain as Church leaned down, holding his collar as he began dragging Freckles out of the room. 

Freckles wagged his tail happily, pulling back against Church’s grip as if it was some kind of game. 

“Come on, out dog.” Church groaned, releasing the collar towards the direction of the door. 

Caboose stepped in front of Church then, blocking his path towards the door as he frowned, a sad expression on his face. “Please, please, please can he stay?” Caboose asked tearfully. “I’ll feed him and water him and he’ll stay in my bedroom the entire time.” He tried to compromise. 

“No, Caboose.” Church groaned tiredly, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as they had begun slipping. 

“But-” 

“Don’t argue with me about this,” Church pleaded. “Come on, move aside.” 

Caboose went silent, shaking his head. 

Church furrowed his brow. “Caboose, you play with the dog all the time. Take no now so it can be a yes later.” 

Jesus, who knew it’d be this hard to ask for some peace and quiet in this godforsaken place. 

Sure, he wished for Caboose to come back. But he wanted him there as a quiet company. Not there with a dog that he would play with obnoxiously till the early hours of the morning and so on. 

“Church, I can assure you, Caboose does a really good job taking care of Freckles. He shouldn’t need any help.” Donut tried to ease from the doorway. 

Church glared, turning towards him. “I don’t care. And _you_ shouldn’t have brought the thing here without consulting me first.” 

“It’s Caboose’s dog and also partly his house.” Donut countered, his own agitation growing. 

Church considered letting the dog stay for just a moment, just for the sake of ending the stupid argument. But then again, he knew if he allowed it, Caboose would be playing with it all night, and then the dog would wake him up with its barking in the morning. So no way. 

Church shook his head, looking back towards Caboose. “No. No way. You’re not changing my mind about this.” Church told him stubbornly. “Now move.” He hissed angrily, placing a hand on Caboose’s chest and pushing lightly; trying to get him to move aside. 

The Director had always warned Church about his emotions. He used to constantly tell him he had to watch them carefully and adjust his powers accordingly because Church had a lot of emotions and they seemed carefully tethered to his powers as a result. 

Church hadn’t paid much mind to the Director’s warnings then, but he quickly regretted that when he placed a hand against Caboose's chest; his anger and agitation settling deep in his gut. 

Something hot and red shone from his palms then and Caboose gasped, jumping back away from Church. “OW!” He cried, a hand quickly going to clutch his chest as a tear streamed down his cheek. 

Donut rushed over then, leaving Church to back up; confused about what just happened. 

It all came to realization when Donut asked Caboose if he was ok and Caboose looked towards Church with a fearful expression. “That stung.” He whimpered. 

Church did that. 

He burned Caboose. 

Church opened his eyes wide, grabbing at his own hands and clutching them close towards him as if he’d lose control and hurt someone, again. He looked at Caboose, his mouth gaped slightly open in shock. He was too stubborn to apologize, so he wasn’t sure what to say. 

Donut turned to him then, a glare clearly visible on his face. 

His half-burned face. 

Half burned because Church had a habit of getting furious and hurting people. 

“Church!” Donut accused, angry that he had hurt Caboose. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Church stressed, backing away. 

Donut frowned, looking towards Caboose as he brought a hand up behind his head and slowly scratched at his hair. “Take Freckles and go wait outside.” He then told Caboose quietly, loud enough that Church could hear. 

Caboose nodded, lingering for a moment as he looked at Church. Possibly waiting for him to intervene. 

Caboose bit his lip after a moment of silence, stepping towards Freckles and picking him up as they left the room and headed out of sight. 

Church watched them go, disbelief still coursing through him as he turned towards Donut. 

"I can't believe you just did that!" Donut exasperated towards him, shock playing at his words. 

Church glared. "I just said, I didn't fucking mean to!" 

Donut paused then, glancing cautiously around the room and rendering its unattended state before he  crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Church. “What in the H-E-double hockey sticks is wrong with you?” He demanded to know. 

Church’s expression flatlined as he looked at Donut and lightly dropped his hands to his side. “I. don’t. know.” He admitted, his voice cracking a little. 

Donut frowned. Obviously indicating that his answer wasn’t good enough. “Well, until you can figure it out,” He said sternly, his eyes showing a newfound harshness. “I want you nowhere near Caboose.”

Church’s heart died a little with that statement. “W-what?” He questioned, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. "Wait, what the fuck does that mean?"

“I'd never say this in front of him, but you’re a danger to Caboose,” Donut told him, pointing an accusing finger at him. “And you’re a danger to yourself. You need to sort out your own personal vendettas and learn to properly take care of yourself before you can even consider taking care of someone else. And until you stop acting like a maniac, I don’t want Caboose staying with you.” 

The serious tone in Donut’s words was almost frightening. 

“And don’t expect us to be showing up at any more meetings either,” Donut added, turning for the door. “I’m out.” He hissed, abandoning the room and slamming the door behind him; leaving Church alone. 

He stood, shocked, in the middle of the room for a few minutes longer. The events of the past few minutes stirring over in his head. “What the fuck just happened?” He asked himself, something hot rising in his palms. “What the actual fuck just happened?” 

“Good going.” Someone called from behind him, a slow round of applause following after. 

Church turned around slowly, his eyes meeting with Texas who was sitting calmly in his bed; her eyes a sharp blue as she slowly tilted her head at him. “You’ve really managed to fuck up every good relationship you had, didn’t you?” She insulted, frowning his way. “And in record timing, too.”

“Oh, shut up!” Church yelled at her, fire just waiting to break free from his fingertips as he turned away from her; refusing to meet her eyes. “You’re not even real! And I don’t need them. I don’t need fucking anybody.” 

Texas laughed behind him. “If you say so.” She sneered. 


	14. Les funérailles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tucker is annoying and Grif is totally ok and definitely not upset at all over Simmons or anything Simmons related

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting sooner, my good friend, Self-loathing decided to visit :D
> 
> As always, Enjoy

_ 2 months ago _

“Deadlines up.” Church reminded Tucker as he passed by him in the kitchen. 

Tucker rolled his eyes, elbowing him a little as he grabbed for the bowl of mac and cheese on the kitchen counter. “It’s been up,” He muttered, turning towards the kitchen table and smiling at Junior as he placed the bowl in front of him. “Eat your food and you can watch TV after.” He told him, turning back towards Church as Junior smiled. 

“And don’t talk about that shit in front of my kid.” He added in a hushed tone.

Church rolled his eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter as Tucker continued stirring the noodles in the pot. “I’m just saying,” He told him, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced at the time on the microwave.

5:06 pm.

“Something should have happened. We still owe money.” He commented quietly. 

Tucker glanced over at him. “Maybe it wasn’t enough for them to care.” He offered. 

“I don’t think so,” Church muttered, glancing towards the kitchen door. “I shouldn’t have let Donut take Caboose this week.” He noted. “He’s not safe out there.”

Tucker grinned. “Oooooh, you like Caboose.” He teased playfully. 

Church scoffed. “Whatever.” 

Tucker chuckled at the lame comeback as he turned off the stove and headed out into the main room of the warehouse, Church following close behind. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Tucker told him, turning back away from the door behind him when paused, hearing a nearby commotion. 

Church heard it too, glancing near Tucker as they both exchanged a worried, yet hopeful glance when the door behind him shot open and three men barged in; masks mostly covering their faces and complexion besides one male who stood close by with spikey brown hair and dark eyes. 

Tucker jumped back, shutting his mouth and opening his eyes wide as he noticed Church’s stature stiffen next to him. 

The three men piled in and made it very apparent right from the start that they had guns. 

“What do you want?” Church demanded to know, already knowing the answer to his question when the largest of the three stepped forward, stopping in front of Church as Tucker watched next to him. 

“Don’t hit me with that bullshit,” He sneered. “It’s time to pay up.”

“We gave you what we had,” Church told him, lowering his arms from his chest and bawling his hands in fists at his side. 

Something about the whole thing excited him. He knew it was coming and damn if he didn’t want to just take control of the entire situation and burn the fucking place to the ground. 

It had been so long; so long since he’d used his ability and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. 

But he couldn’t.

They vowed it off. 

It was what got them put into the Director’s home in the first place. 

Church unbawled his fists.

“What you had wasn’t enough.” The man stated, poking the gun at his chest. “And you’ve had plenty of time.” He told him, extending the gun away from Church and towards Tucker. “It’s time to pay up.” 

Tucker’s eyes shot open, staring at the gun as he waited for Church to say something. 

But Church was stubborn. 

He wasn’t going to plead. Never would. 

“We don’t have it.” Church stated flatly. “I guess you’ll just have to wait.”

The man in front of him raised a brow, the black of his mask covering the blatant look he could’ve shown. He dropped the dull expression within seconds, laughing a little as he did. “It doesn’t work like that.” He told Church, placing a finger over the trigger. 

“Church…” Tucker called quietly, a worried tone.

“Relax,” Church added quietly, his eyes not leaving the other males’ for a second as they both stubbornly stood-off with each other. 

“1,” The man began counting. 

“Don’t have it,” Church told him once again, narrowing his eyes. 

“2.”

Tucker glanced back towards the kitchen, praying to god that Junior had his earbuds in. 

“3”

Before Tucker could look back, the man fired the gun and a sharp pain hit him in his stomach. Tucker cried out, directing his attention back towards the group as he clutched his stomach and stepped back, staggering a little and doubling over; feeling hot waves of blood quickly pool around his hands. 

Church looked over to Tucker, watching horrifically as blood started pooling from his chest; staining his dark complexion. Church slowly looked back over to the man in front of him, observing his cold stone expression when he laughed. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Church told him, something dark and angry lingering on his face.

The man raised a brow curiously as Church steeped back, finding his grounding as he raised his hands at his sides and fire raged to life from his fingertips. 

He could see something shocked on Tucker’s face as he fell to the round, something red pooling on the concrete. 

Church imagined he’d be upset for him breaking the rule, but to be honest, when that bastard hurt Tucker, he was asking for it. 

Consider it an open invitation.

And he’d get to Tucker. He wasn’t particularly worried about him. Junior was in the next room and could help him in just a minute. 

Church just had to get rid of these guys first. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” One exasperated from the back, raising his gun, pure terror coursing through his eyes. 

Church laughed, his heart beating a mile a minute. Looking at the man in front of him with a stone-cold expression, Church took no time hesitating to bring his hands forth and blasting red hot flames at his target. 

The man screamed, dropping his gun and stepping backward as Church moved closer to him, bringing up his foot as he kicked him back towards the man behind him. Both the men fell back; screams undistinguishable as they both caught fire and the cloth they wore only further fed the flames. 

Church glanced towards the final guy, watching him scramble away on the floor as the screeches from the men nearby slowly faded. 

Church glanced over to the steadily growing fire and the bodies engulfed by it. 

Clothes and hair burned quickly. He'd better snuff it out before it continued and burned down the whole fucking warehouse. Church scoffed waving a hand over the fire and grinning as the flames cleared and all that was left were two crisps corpses and a large black spot where the fire had charred the concrete-like floor below. 

“Junior!” Church called loudly, glancing over to Tucker who had quieted down in the process. 

Something worried came over him then as his friend grew still. 

Maybe he took a little bit too long.

“JUNIOR!” Church called again, more frantic this time as he looked over to the final guy; his eyes opened wide as he backed further into the wall near the door. 

“Y-you-” He stuttered as Church stepped towards him. “You’re a fucking demon!” 

Church scoffed. “Close enough,” He decided as he snatched the gun from the man’s hand since he was shaking too much to have any real grip on it. Church paused, taking the gun as he raised it to the spiky-haired men’s head. 

“Wait!” The guy spouted quickly. “What do you want? I’ll do anything.”

Church raised a brow as he noticed Junior rushing into the room from the kitchen. “What’s your name?” He asked the man, turning back to look at him. 

“R-Rex.” The man answered. 

Church nodded. “You’re gonna stay still while I help my friend and  _ then  _ you’re going to take me to your boss,” Church instructed, grabbing Rex by his shirt collar as he threw him to the ground, away from the door, and then leaned forward to lock the exit door. Church gave a wary glance towards Tucker and Junior who was now leaning over him before he looked over to Rex. 

“I’m not finished yet.” He told him darkly. 

_ Present Day.  _

Grif adjusted the belt strapped around his black slacks. Looking up at himself in the mirror, he frowned. He hated dressing up. Especially now when he felt the time spent dressing up didn’t warrant the occasion. 

Why should he make any effort into looking nice when the reason he was was because of the death of a loved one. It didn’t make any sense. 

Grif sighed, turning to grab his black hoodie off the chair of his bedroom as he slipped it on over his black dress shirt. 

It wouldn’t matter anyway. None of it would. 

The stupid ~~funeral~~ memorial thing would be for nothing because he was going to bring Simmons back, goddammit. 

He wasn’t dead. Or rather, wouldn’t be for much longer. 

He didn’t care how long it would take, he refused to go through life without him tangibly next to him.

“Where are your dress shoes?” Simmons asked, sitting calmly on the bed behind him. 

“I’m not wearing them,” Grif hissed, glancing in the mirror and noticing Simmons shift irritably on the bed. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like to be dead, wandering in the afterlife. Grif glanced away, not wanting to stare at Simmons’s blood-soaked hoodie as red crusted near his wound. “They’re uncomfortable,” Grif complained. 

“But it’s my funeral.”

Grif narrowed his eyes, turning towards him as he crossed his arms over his chest; noting Simmons’s dead expression. “You and I both know it won’t matter soon.” He commented, implying exactly what Simmons believed he was implying. 

Simmons glared. “You’ve lost your mind,” He snipped. “You can’t honestly be considering bringing me back.”

“Well, I am.” Grif countered childishly. 

Simmons frowned, his expression worrying. “Grif, no.” He shot out desperately, his anger simmering as he realized Grif was serious. “You can’t. You know the price of doing that.” 

“I don’t care,” Grif told him flatly, his glare still visible. “It shouldn’t be too hard. You can be back in the world of the living,  _ with me,  _ within the week.” 

Simmons sat stilly on the bed, his nails digging into his palms as he let them sit, covered, in his lap. “It’s inhuman.” Simmons sighed, looking away. “And everyone already thinks I’m dead.” 

It was true. Even if Grif managed to bring Simmons back to life, everyone else would have already believed him dead. Simmons would have to live the rest of his life, holed up in his apartment. 

That wasn’t what he wanted. 

He wanted to serve his nation and help people, not caring about the reward that may follow. He wanted the life a normal life. And his life ran its course. He wanted to move on. 

He shouldn’t have been stuck in the crosshairs of living and dead. 

Simmons had plenty of time to think about the reason as well. 

Not everyone who died was stuck in real life. That had to have been true or else his vision would be overrun by years and years of dead, tormented souls. So obviously there was some equation to get out and escape. 

Simmons would glance forward in time and view that equation, but….

He lost his magical ability the instance he died. 

It was weird not having it, but he was somewhat grateful either way. 

Which meant there was something else holding him back from raising to heaven or descending to hell. 

Simmons knew the reason. 

He had easily discovered the reason and wasn’t ready to process it. 

“But you’d still be with me.” Grif stressed, causing Simmons to redirect his eyes onto him. 

Simmons gave him a small smile. 

He wanted that. 

God, he did. 

But he couldn’t have it. Not anymore. 

“Just, please don’t,” Simmons stressed, begging him quietly. “Please, please, don’t.” 

Grif glared, not happy with that answer as he turned for the door. He opened it with ease and stepped out into his living room, looking towards Kai as she curled her hair near the chair on the wall and glanced next to Tucker every now and then. 

“Stop picking at your bandage.” Kaikaina snapped at Tucker, waving a hand in his direction. 

Tucker pulled his hand down from the white bandaging on his head as he winced. “Stop yelling at me,” He groaned. “My head still hurts.” 

Kaikaina rolled her eyes, glancing back towards Grif with a smile. “About ready to go?” 

Grif nodded, looking over at Tucker. “Where the fuck did you get a teal handkerchief?” He questioned, brow raised. 

Tucker stood up off the chair with a grin, placing an arched hand on his hip to show off his tux. “Suiter downtown let me have it for free,” He noted smugly. “Guess he was feeling generous.” 

Grif scoffed. “Or you’re abusing your powers.” He retorted sourly. 

“That too.” Tucker agreed, his smile remaining. 

“Oh, come on Grif.” Kaikaina defended, unplugging the curler and placing it on the small table near the chair. She turned to face him, her golden hoops shining in the light as her black flowy dress twirled from the movement. “I think it was worth it.” She remarked. 

Grif rolled his eyes. “Sure,” He degraded, crossing his arms over his chest. “You divas ready?”

* * *

Washington glanced across the large church room as he stepped in, noticing Carolina and her bright red hair right away. 

The funeral was held outside, but it was cold and windy so the Church was booked out for food and drinks and to converse. The actual memorial would be held outside in about an hour so Wash had plenty of time to meet the other detectives Carolina kept urging him to meet. 

Wash stepped towards his sister, smiling at her as she noticed him, and waved him closer. He complied, joining her, as he stood near a concession table serving water and other drinks, observing the people around him. 

“Oh, Wash. This is York.” She introduced, gesturing towards the man in the dress suit next to her, holding a glass of water. 

“Her plus one,” York added with a smile, tilting the glass a little in his own direction before taking a sip of the liquid inside. 

“My ride.” Carolina corrected, turning to look at him. 

“I’ll take it.”

Washington scoffed, laughing a little. “Yea, we’ve met before.” He noted, turning towards York. “You were the only one I properly knew so whenever I had work to give out, I gave it to you.” 

York laughed. “You bastard, I knew it!” He accused half-heartedly. 

Wash scoffed, admiring the happy look Carolina gave the other man as he watched a guy with light blond hair and blueish-green eyes approach the group. 

“What’s he whining about now?” The guy questioned with a grin, giving a glance towards Wash. 

“Someone doesn’t want to do their job,” Carolina teased, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest as she gave York a knowing look. York returned the look as Carolina turned back to the man. “North, this is David.” She introduced. 

North turned him, extending a hand. “David,” He greeted with a calm smile. 

Washington found the name somewhat vague to him. After all, Tucker had been calling him Wash for quite a few days. He kind of grew attached to it. 

Washington cursed himself for it. He was done with Tucker and really needed to stop thinking about him. Him and his stupid remarks and his shit-eating grins. 

Wash had decided that there wasn’t much he could do. In a situation where power was abundant, he was powerless; at the bottom of a pit with a backdoor behind him. 

He didn’t have to climb up out of the pit and figure out what was out there, he just had to leave out the backdoor and let the pit dissipate into the abundance of vague memories in his head. 

“Wash is fine,” David assured, shaking the man’s hand as he let it drop within a few seconds. 

“So, Wash,” North began questioning. “You from around here?”

York chuckled, bringing his glass to his lips. “Jeez, North, at least buy him a drink first.”

Washington noted Carolina stifling a laugh as he looked back over at North. “I’m from out of state,” He told him. “Came down here to help out.”

“Is that permanent?”

Washington thought for a moment. His boss gave him a few weeks off and labeled it under family issues and he even intended to pull some of the vacation days he had saved up. But he hadn’t decided if he wanted to stay permanently. Based upon the way things were going, he didn’t think he would want to. “I’ll guess we’ll see.”

North nodded, retaining the information as York turned to him. “Where’s South?” He questioned North, placing the glass in his hand behind him on the table. 

North shrugged, looking around him a little. “Oh, she’s somewhere around here,” He informed, bringing his attention back onto the group. “Probably causing trouble.” He added in a joking tone. 

“Just keep her away from the priest and I’m sure she won’t get us kicked out anytime soon,” York commented, laughing at his own joke. 

North smiled too, rolling his eyes a little. “I’ll take that into consideration.” He responded playfully. 

Wash would’ve responded, asking who South was as he hadn’t met her yet. He would have raised a brow and asked just exactly how it would even be possible for her to go get them kicked out of the funeral. 

But he didn’t get that chance. 

Why?

Because the sounds of someone approaching behind him stopped his proceeding action. 

“Wash!” The familiar voice called. 

Washington turned around and immediately regretted it as gazed upon Tucker, stepping towards the group with a bright smile; his dreads bouncing in their visible ponytail.

His tux fit him well and his tie remained loose around his dress shirt as one of the top buttons remained unopened, exposing slightly down his chest. 

Washington cursed himself for noticing that little fact before he even noticed the bandage around Tucker’s head. It wasn’t terribly noticeable, but it was noticeable enough for Wash to immediately want to know what had happened. 

More on that later, he decided. The more important worry was the fact that he was there, approaching Wash in front of a large majority of the police department.

Washington was able to hide his shocked expression as he was faced away from Carolina, North, and York as Tucker sauntered up to him. “Tucker? What are you doing here?” He asked, 100% sure the group was watching behind him. 

“Grif brought me,” Tucker explained casually. “Figured I’d say hi.”

Washington continued staring at him with a look hopefully showcasing the words, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Tucker grinned, most likely sensing he wasn't wanted there. 

“You gonna introduce us?” Carolina asked, behind him. 

Washington turned to face her, neutralizing his expression. 

But Tucker was a bit quicker. 

“Lavernius Tucker,” He introduced, extending a hand past Wash.

Carolina took it, shaking it before Tucker released his hand and brought it down to hold Wash’s. “I’m Wash’s boyfriend.” He added with a smile, leaving Wash to quickly look over at him, his face quickly redding around his cheeks. 

Jesus Christ, what had he gotten himself into? 

At that moment, Wash really wanted to punch him. But of course, he couldn’t do that. Not in front of the others. It was tempting though.

All he could really do was nod along and agree because any other action would warrant questions and he had been too deep into Tucker’s shenanigans to not be pulled under when he inevitably got dragged down. 

Carolina smiled, Turning to look at Wash. “Wash, you’ve been holding out on me.”

“It’s new.” Tucker explained with a smile, swinging his and Wash’s intertwined hands back and forth a little. 

Washington let him, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself for the time being, and returned Carolina’s small smile. 

“What happened to your head?” North questioned, gesturing his way. 

Tucker shrugged. “Minor concussion.” He explained, almost like it was nothing.

Washington turned to look at him. “What, really?” He questioned, annoyed he let so much concern shine through his words. 

“Does it hurt?” York asked him. 

“Not really. I just get headaches every now and then.” Tucker explained. “Can’t be any worse than the headache I get from all the noise Wash’s stickshift makes.” Tucker then joked; pleased at the smiles he got from the group. 

Carolina laughed. “You think that’s bad? You should've seen him drive that thing in high school.”

Washington nodded, giving Carolina a small smile as he turned towards Tucker. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asked calmly. 

Tucker raised a brow. “Can’t you-”

“Good.” Washington interrupted, still holding Tucker’s hand as he began walking the both of them somewhere quiet. Washington ignored the “oohs” He heard behind him as he opened the door to the large ceremonial building and shut it behind them. 

He dropped Tucker’s hand then as they had exited outside. “What the fuck are you doing?” Washington demanded to know as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Tucker smiled. “Why, Wash, babe. Whatever are you talking about?”

“That!” Washington pointed out. “Stop that. We’re not dating-”

“We’re fucking.” Tucker interrupted with a sly grin. 

“No, just,” Washington stuttered, raising his arms in exasperation. “That was one time and I’m not doing that with you again and you shouldn’t be here.” He chastised sternly, redirecting the conversation as he dropped his hands to his sides.

Tucker glared. “If the sex isn’t good, then fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” He stated angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. “But don’t you dare tell me I don’t belong here. My friend died. I’m here for the funeral.” 

Washington softened. He didn’t fully believe that. Part of him knew Tucker had ulterior motives, but he couldn’t outright tell him that. It was disrespectful to Simmons to imply such a thing, again. 

“Then leave me and my friends alone,” Washington begged sternly. “I don’t want you doing your,” He paused, narrowing his eyes a little as he waved a hand to emphasize what he was trying to say. “Mind thing on them.” 

Tucker glared and Washington reciprocated the look.

“Oh, also don’t think you got away with that Georgia shit. Don’t ever do anything like that again.” Wash demanded. “My phone is  _ my _ property and Carolina better stay out of every little scheme you conjure up.” 

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Well, you were supposed to help me, but I had to take things into my own hands.”

Wash shook his head. “No, you see, that’s your problem. You act like a child. I told you that I would help you with that, but no. You wanted things done your way and you wanted them done now.” He snipped. 

“Well, sor-ry I grew up having to do everything by myself. Not everyone had parents to teach them this shit, Wash.” Tucker hissed. 

“Another problem,” Washington declared, pointing a finger at him. “You take no responsibility for your actions or the effect those actions have on other people. Everything is someone else's fault. Everyone is in the wrong except for Tucker.” He further ranted. “If you took responsibility for your actions as much as you blamed other people for your problems, you wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess!”

Tucker laughed. “I’m not in any mess. In fact, I have all my shit perfectly together!” He smiled, leaning in closer to Wash, dropping his voice low. “And I’m going to go back into that building and I’m gonna meet all your stupid little friends and at the end of the day, they’ll all know me as Lavernius Tucker; the super attractive guy that may or may not be fucking their head detective.” He gloated, grabbing Wash’s tie and pulling him closer to him as he looked up into his eyes. 

Washington gritted his teeth as he lightly pushed Tucker off of him. “Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Tucker winced, a hand flying to his head as he looked down, a painful expression on his face. “Stop fucking yelling,” He whined, rubbing at his head. “This shit still hurts.”

Washington paused, his face softening as he watched Tucker slowly recover from the pounding in his head that Wash Undoubtedly gave him. “Are you ok?” He asked softly, after a moment.

Tucker winced, still not meeting his eyes as he nodded slightly. “Uh-huh.” He muttered out. 

Washington bit his lip, something worried on his mind as he stepped forward towards Tucker and extended a hand. “Here, let me see.” He eased cautiously. 

Tucker shook his head, backing up slightly. “No, it’s fine.” He groaned, extending a hand. 

Washington stopped in his tracks, dropping his hand. “Well, what did the hospital say?” He asked calmly. 

Tucker slowly looked up at him, something obvious on his face as a silence filled the air. 

Washington sighed. “You didn’t go to the hospital, did you?”

Tucker glared. “No, I didn’t go to the fucking hospital.” He bit out matter-of-factly before wincing once again and sucking in a pained breath as he looked away from Wash.

Washington rushed forward, placing a hand on Tucker’s back as he began looking at the bandages. “You have to go to a hospital.” He stressed urgently.

“I can’t,” Tucker hissed, placing a hand on Wash’s shoulder as he stood in front of him. “I don’t have insurance or like any data in any database and I’ve never paid taxes and shots are fucking scary.” He ranted frantically. 

Washington rolled his eyes. “I’ll take care of it, but I have to get you to the emergency room, now.” 

Tucker nodded. “Ok, fine. Just no shots, ok?”

“I can make no promises.” 

* * *

Kaikaina walked out the back exit of the building and out towards the backgrounds area where people were finishing up setting up chairs and getting ready to start the service. 

Kai frowned, spotting her brother sitting on a chair near the end of a row, a few good feet away from the casket. 

He was the only viewer there that wasn’t setting something up. Even the news anchor that came to record the city’s “local hero”’s funeral was still positioning cameras and rearranging chairs and stands to get a better view of the casket. 

Kaikaina wandered next to Grif, sitting down on the chair next to him as he met his persistent gaze on the hole in the ground where they would be lowering the casket. 

“Do you wanna come inside?” She asked him softly. “We still have a few minutes before it starts.”

Grif shook his head. “No.”

“We could get some food or something?” Kai offered.

“I’m not hungry.” He told her flatly, his eyes not leaving the grave for a second.

“Wow, that bad, huh?” Kai marveled, looking towards Grif. 

“It’s so dumb,” Grif laughed, biting back a tear. “He isn’t even dead,” He muttered out, gesturing to his left. “He’s right there.” He noted, giving a quick glance to Simmons’s ghost as he lingered next to him, remaining quiet.

Kai nodded. “It’s ok to still be upset about it,” She consoled. “That’s not dumb.” 

Grif sighed. “It is dumb. He’s still here, he just won’t talk to me sometimes and I can’t touch him or feel him or-” He paused, realizing he was in no way proving his point. “And he- I mean, we’re about to  _ bury  _ him.”

Kai sniffled. Simmons was her friend and she was just as devastated. When she noticed Grif breaking up, she reached a hand out towards his head and softly directed it onto her shoulder. “I know.” She emphasized. 

Grif wouldn’t tell Kaikaina about his plans for reviving Simmons. He wouldn’t tell her that he had revived someone before. The person in question being Texas. He wouldn’t tell her about how Texas stood up and staggered around before stepping out towards him and  _ attacking  _ him. He wouldn’t tell her about how the Director just stood by and watched until Texas jerked, screeching as she crumbled to nothing once more. 

And he certainly wouldn’t tell Kai that in order to fully bring back someone’s spirit and soul, you needed another soul to act as a vessel unless you only wanted to bring a dead corpse back to life. 

He had planned on that vessel being ‘O’Malley, but then he got away. Grif still semi-planned to use him. After all, it was only a matter of time until ‘O’Malley did something crazy and made himself known. 

Grif glanced around, raising his head slightly off his sister’s shoulder as he noticed people piling into seats. 

The funeral was starting. 

And soon they would lower Simmons into the ground. 

Granted, Grif would have to get him out later, but still. 

He didn’t want to see him go under. 

“We are gathered here today, not to mourn the loss of a loved one, but to honor the life he lived.” The pastor began spouting. 

Grif could barely pay attention as the priest continued speaking. He tuned out most of it, even the part where someone from the robbery came up ad talked about how Simmons was her hero. Of course, the news reporter had a camera on her face the entire time and that made Grif kind of pissed, so he did tune in a little for that part. 

But what he was really focused on was Simmons’s reaction next to him. 

He hadn’t said anything since they arrived at the church. 

Just moved to stand by Grif’s chair as he stared blankly at his casket. 

He must’ve realized at some point that he could do anything that he wanted at that moment because as Sarge stood to say a few words, Simmons stepped aside from Grif and towards where the priest was standing. 

Simmons placed a hand on the wooden casket, rounding it as didn’t even give Grif a second glance. 

He supposed this was it. 

And maybe, just maybe, he contemplated trying to find a way to crawl in. 

At least then, Grif wouldn’t be able to bring him back into the land of the living. 

“....I’ve never trusted anyone more.”

Simmons looked up into the audience, catching the butt-end of Sarge’s speech as he sat back down in his chair. 

He felt like crying, but couldn’t seem to produce the tears.

* * *

“Hey Cornbread?” Caboose questioned, sitting patiently on Donut’s couch as Donut rubbed gauze on his chest and began replacing the bandage he had on his torso.

It was a nasty burn. 

The skin around his middle had grown bright pink as the skin had been burned off and as it heald, the skin surrounding the wound had begun scrunching together, creating a stitch-like effect. Caboose would be ok and with time, the scar would lesson. And he had been disinfecting it enough for it to not get infected. So he’d be ok there. But it was still wrong. 

Church shouldn’t have hurt Caboose.

Even if Caboose wouldn’t really remember it, Donut would. 

And Donut was also perceptive. 

What Church and Caboose shared could’ve easily been rendered under an abusive relationship. That was expected, Church was a toxic person. And he told Caboose lies and didn’t take proper care of him. And took out his anger on Caboose even when it wasn’t his fault. 

And Caboose was too oblivious and too sweet to see that. 

So Donut made it his priority to get Caboose out of it. 

“Yea, Caboose?”

“When are we going back to Church’s?” Caboose questioned innocently.

Donut sighed. “I don’t know, Caboose.” He admitted quietly. “Probably not for a long time.”

“But, Church will be all alone.” Caboose stated sadly. 

Donut finished bandaging Caboose up and then lowered his shirt back over his torso. Taking Caboose’s hands in his own as Donut kneeled on the floor in front of the couch Caboose was sitting on, he looked up into his eyes. “Caboose,” He began explaining. “Church hurt you and that is not ok. So until Church learns not to hurt people, you can’t see him. I’m sorry.”

“What about the bad guys?” Caboose questioned. “We have to stop them.”

“There are no bad guys,” Donut explained. “ There is no need to hurt anyone and you should protect everybody. No matter what.

Caboose nodded, slowly, understanding what he was saying. “What about my coloring books?” He asked Donut.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” Donut told him with a smile. “And new crayons that aren’t 5 years old and new bedsheets and new shoes that don’t have the soles coming apart,” Donut promised. “And I’ll buy Freckles a dog bed so he can sleep with you in your room.”

Caboose smiled at the newfound comfort he felt. “Neat.”

* * *

Washington stared down at his phone as he sat in the cold, white, hospital waiting room. The place reeked of bleach and made him uneasy. He couldn’t complain too much though. He was sure it was much worse for Tucker who had probably never been in a hospital. 

Tucker who had a serious medical problem and didn’t go to the hospital. So now it was probably much, much, worse.

The worst part was that Wash had no idea what happened to injure him so he had no idea how severe the damage actually was. 

It sucked and he felt guilty for making it worse. 

Washington sighed, reaching for his phone in his pocket. At least now that he had a quiet moment, he could text Carolina and tell her where he disappeared to. 

Wash swiped to Carolina’s name on his phone and frowned, scrolling up a little bit to see the text Tucker had previously sent her. 

Looking at it made him upset. Upset that Tucker had gone back behind his back to do such a thing, upset that he tried to drag Carolina into his own problems, and upset that he was so hurt by it. 

But he also cared about Tucker. 

Which was where this new point of confliction led him. 

He figured he liked Tucker. But he’d like him so much more if he wasn’t on the opposing side. If Tucker would stop hurting people, and lying to him; Wash would like him so much more.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. 

Wash would probably like him the same. Even now, he was stuck loving every part of Tucker. That wouldn’t change no matter what. But if Tucker fixed himself, Wash would  _ want _ to be with him way more. 

And that made all the difference. 

Washington scrolled to the bottom of his messages with Carolina and pulled up the keyboard, shooting her a text. 

_ ‘Hey, I had to take Tucker to the emergency room. There was a problem with his head. Might not make it back till later.’ _

He hit send and then leaned back in the hospital chair, sighing as he looked up at the white ceiling. 

“Can you go in there?” Someone asked him, causing Wash to look over immediately. 

His eyes met upon an aggravated nurse as she placed her hands steadily on her hips. “What? In where?” Wash questioned. 

“Your friend’s room,” She explained. “He keeps asking for you and he’s being an asshole. Can you just go in there and keep him under control?”

Washington’s mouth gaped a little in surprise. But he honestly shouldn’t have been shocked. This was Tucker. And he was obnoxious. But that excited and playful energy was part of what Wash like about him. 

Washington nodded, getting up from his chair.

He knew at this point, he needed to make a decision. 

Continue to be alongside Tucker, even with the possibility of getting hurt or cut off contact completely. 

There was no in-between. 

Washington continued down the hospital room hallway before stopping at the room he knew Tucker was in. He hesitated to enter for a second, before reaching for the knob and pushing the door open. 

Tucker glanced his way immediately. He had his coat and shoes off and a new bandage covering his head. He didn’t seem to be hooked up to any monitors or anything as he laid on the bed, not that Tucker would let them. Wash previously noted him complaining about needles earlier. 

“Wash, oh thank god.” Tucker exasperated from the bed, catching the nurse’s attention as he attempted getting up from the medical bed. 

Washington stepped into the room, lightly shutting the door behind him as he watched a young nurse rush over. “Sir, please sit back-”

“Stop,” Tucker commanded her, fully out of the bed and now standing up straight. “Give us a minute, kay?”

The woman halted her movements and without a word, turned to leave the room. 

Washington rolled his eyes as he watched her leave, shutting the door once again “Tucker, lay back down.” He told him, looking his way. 

Tucker frowned. “We’re not leaving?”

“No,” Wash stated simply. “You haven’t been excused yet. Sit back down and stop messing with the Nurse’s heads.” 

Tucker groaned, slumping back onto the bed. “Ugh, but I hate it here.” He complained. “They gave me a shot and the wrong color jello and that tall doctor yelled at me for flirting with his nurses.” 

Washington scoffed. “Well, if you had just gone to the hospital in the first place, this wouldn’t have been a problem.” 

Tucker sighed, rubbing at his head when the nurse he had told to leave earlier, came back into the room. Tucker looked up at her, glaring. “When I said give us a minute, I didn’t literally mean 1 minute. Stay outside.”

The nurse complied instantly. 

“Tucker!” Wash chastised, causing Tucker to wince. “Sorry.” He then muttered out, lowering his voice.

Tucker sighed, leaning back against the bed. “You suuuck,” He whined. “I wanna leave. They won’t let me watch TV or go on my phone.” 

Washington scoffed, walking over to the bed and sitting down, careful not to sit on Tucker. He placed his hands on the cushioning behind him and looked towards Tucker with an expecting look. “What happened to your head?” He asked cautiously. 

“Why do you care Mr. ‘stay away from me and my friends’?” 

Washinton rolled his eyes. “Just- What happened?”

“O’Malley happened,” Tucker told him, averting Wash’s gaze. 

“He’s out!?” Washington whisper-shouted his way. 

Tucker nodded. “It’s fine,” He eased. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“Yet.” Washington added. 

Tucker rolled his eyes, dismissing it. “Why are you so worried?” He questioned sourly. “Figured you were done with my bullshit.”

Washington sighed, bringing his hands up to his face as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Because I-” He paused, lost at words as he uncovered his hands from his face and let out a huff of breath. “Why,” He demanded to know, turning to look at Tucker. “Why are you like this? Why are you making this so difficult? Why can’t you just stop with all the lying and the crime and all of it?”

Tucker frowned, a solemn expression on his face as he grew silent. 

Washington watched him for a second longer, awaiting a response. When he figured he wasn’t getting one, he glared. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He muttered irritably. 

“You know why I'm doing this.” Came Tucker’s hushed voice. 

“No, I don’t.” Wash bit back, looking away from him. 

Tucker shook his head, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Come, on Wash. You’re a detective. Think about it.” 

Washington rubbed thoughtfully at his head as he closed his eyes. Fuck what did Tucker tell him about his reasoning? Which wasn’t much. “What? Because you were born into it?” Wash questioned frustratedly. 

But that couldn’t have been right. 

Wash had given Tucker every chance to get out of it and he fought against it. 

“Try again, Wash.”

Why was Tucker at the funeral? 

Wash saw the way Tucker reacted when Simmons’s death was revealed. He didn’t care  _ that  _ much. If anyone should have accompanied Grif to the funeral, it should have Donut who seemed to have an actual connection to Simmons. 

And one could say Tucker was there as emotional support for Grif, but that didn’t make any sense either. Grif had Kai and if anyone should have gone as Grif’s emotional support, it should have been Donut, who showed real interest in Grif’s well-being. 

Also, if Tucker was there for emotional support, he wouldn’t have spent the duration of his time being there, annoying Wash. 

And he didn’t go for Wash because there was no possible way that he could have known Wash would be there. 

Which meant he was up to something, but what?

Come on. Motive, motive, motive. 

What did Tucker want?

There had to have been something. Something Tucker previously told him that would lead to an obvious answer. If Tucker didn’t know that Wash could 100% figure this out, he wouldn’t have asked him to. 

_ “This is my life, Wash,” _

Wasn’t that. 

_ “Don’t leave, please-” _

Couldn’t have been loneliness or else he’d do anything to prevent Wash from leaving. 

_ “Won’t be dead for much longer.” _

Holy shit. 

Washington looked over at Tucker, an exasperated look of shock and realization on his face. “Junior?” He questioned skeptically. 

Tucker bit his lip. “You asked earlier, to what extent our abilities stemmed to,” He trailed off casually before smiling. “How far do you think Grif’s stem to?” He then questioned rhetorically. 

Wash shook his head, his mouth bolted tight as disbelief rushed over him. “Tucker, no.” He finally mumbled out, a stern look on his face. “That’s insane.” 

“Desperate times, call for desperate measures.” Tucker defended, looking down at the bedsheets; griping them lightly. 

“Tucker, please. You can’t.” Wash begged. 

Tucker slowly looked up at him, something dark lingering in his eyes. 

Tucker's stare was a nasty thing. And he used it often. When he swindled the bus driver, when he tortured Rex, when he demanded the nurse get out of her own hospital room, and right now as he looked up at Wash. 

“You gonna stop me?” He questioned sharply. 

Washington swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched the flicker in Tucker’s eyes very carefully, unable to look away. He shook his head softly, something desperate and regretful clinging to him. “I don’t think that I can.” He mustered. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ;3
> 
> I have 8 chapters of this story already premade, so I'll try to keep updating consistently. 
> 
> For more RvB content, follow me on Instagram. @Tuckers_bitcc :D
> 
> Story playlist can be found on SPOTIFY under "Renegade👌✨" or found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6FYJk8KBzsy2WCqWIzGtM7?si=ihSZtLnYS36coMcZ5bYcfw


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